cats – Page 2 – The Morning Porch

August 20, 2011

Dave Bonta August 20, 2011 3

A catbird scolds a feral cat: harsh, descending Nos. Slick with dew, the lanceolate leaves of goldenrod shimmer in the sun like green fish.

Dave Bonta June 11, 2011 2

Dead bracken leaf: a sun-bleached carcass. A feral cat pads down the road undetected by squirrels, its sodden gray coat the color of gravel.

Dave Bonta April 23, 2011 2

Four gray squirrels interrupt their chasing to scold the feral cat—a Two Minutes’ Hate. In the corner of my eye, the zip of a winter wren.

Dave Bonta March 13, 2011 6

On the flattened grass where snow has sat for months, the gray disk of an old hornet nest. The feral cat presses her belly fur to the earth.

Dave Bonta January 18, 2011 7

Fine snow blurs the edges of the porch. The feral cat has walked in her own footsteps through the garden, a clear print in each old crater.

Dave Bonta May 28, 2010

The first four peonies burst their buds in the night and open to a sky of hazy pink. From under the house, a cat’s hollow cough.

Dave Bonta February 2, 2010

My meditative sit is spoiled by the incessant scolding of a squirrel, set off by a feral tabby. Now I know why Nanzen killed the cat.

Dave Bonta November 21, 2009 1

A half-grown barn cat crawls out from under the house, gray and bedraggled as a clump of drier lint. One jay rasping at the top of a locust.

Dave Bonta June 4, 2009

The black cat crouches at the edge of the meadow full of dame’s-rocket. What hides, squirmed into grassy burrows, under all that purple?

Dave Bonta April 14, 2009

Beside the rosette of mullein leaves like thumbless felt mittens beaded with rainwater, the feral cat pauses to yowl.

Dave Bonta April 10, 2009

Twenty minutes after the feral cat disappeared under the porch, the squirrel still scolds. Rain is a soft patter of lead shot—or so I wish.

Dave Bonta March 13, 2009

Clear and cold at sunrise. The feral cat slinks across the springhouse meadow. Muffled sounds of a squirrel scolding from inside its drey.

Dave Bonta November 16, 2008

Under the cover of high winds, the feral cat goes hunting without setting off the usual alarms. Airborne oak leaves ascend into the clouds.

Dave Bonta April 3, 2008

The feral cat is back from wherever it goes for the winter. It crouches on a fallen limb, eyes fixed on the weeds, gathered for the spring.