Cat curled loosely on the wooden chair

in front of my computer

on a needlepoint cushion.

Old unkempt fur taffeta tufted.

Beyond her dreams she hears

the sounds of sparky sparrows

that nest behind the gutter

just above the open window.

Lots of chatter, the young are nearly fledged.

Suddenly, through the opening

flutters a baby sparrow.

Timidly fighting gravity

but to no avail

he lands nervously on the carpet.

Parents panic outside.

Inside, old cat stirs

opens one cloudy eye,

looks down, spies

the hopping hiding thing.

She looks confused, what can it be?

Something stirs in her long-ago mind,

some memory. But no, it's gone.

 

Eyes close, cat dreams of a past

when catching sparrows was easy.

When there were trees to climb.

When there was never any pain.

When there was always sunshine.

 

I place the baby on the window ledge

to live his life.

And I tell him to take care.

For not all cats have forgotten

what sparrows are.