The cat observed the jogger pass
The window, and scratched at the glass.
Her instincts told her "This is prey.
I ought to run him down today
And rend his flesh, and eat my fill,
And find someplace to hide the kill."
A similar thought to her occurred
When she espied the mockingbird
That taunted her from up the tree
which shaded her, and kept her free
From having to adjust her spot
When sunlight made the place too hot.
She felt again the psychic pain,
The knowledge her genetic strain
Had left her, of the open field,
Where mouse and antelope must yield;
For in her mind she clearly saw
Vast herds of prey fall to her claw.
The jogger went around the bend.
Her reverie came to an end.
And as he disappeared from sight,
She yawned and stretched with all her might,
And gave the glass a final tap,
And curled up, and took a nap.