Dawn. A gull flies sideways below lowering clouds. The silhouette of a small cat appears on the wall behind the neighbor’s bird feeder.
Birds on each feeder and two pigeons on the ground below: the indoor cat watches, rapt, swaying gently as if to a music only she can hear.
In the otherwise uncluttered blue, the moon like a half-slice of fruit. An orange cat threads the ivy atop the neighbor’s fence.
Overhead, wispy mare’s tails, and on the patio, drifts of feathers where a wood pigeon met its end—undoubtedly the work of a cat.
Windy and cool. A black and white cat appears on the back wall, then drops out of sight. A minute later a grey tabby takes its place.
Cloudy and cool. The garden is full of the silence of a cat stealing across the shed’s corrugated roof. At last, a blue tit chatters alarm.
Seven snails are spending the day disguised as burls on the mock orange. A feral cat sneaks in atop the wall, but the terrier is on patrol.
A cat watches me from the depths of the mock orange tree. The birds are elsewhere, and silent, having begun singing around 4:00 a.m.
The feral cat places its feet just so, peering down at the base of the wall where seven sunflowers have just been liberated from their pots.
A brick lies in the dirt at the back of the garden, dislodged by the running of cats and foxes along the night-time labyrinth of walls.