There, that chipmunk just ran along the porch ledge again,
thin an edge as it is, it’s wide enough for him,
He runs there often, mostly ‘cause he wants to know,
Ol’Cats’ not here
and he knows the porch’s screen is strong, if Ol’ Cat were,
he has no fear,
Yet still he hides behind the cedar beam,
with his tail held in view, twitching, tempting,
I know what to say, watch,
"Hey Mr. Chipmunk, how you today, looking for someone to play?"
Ol’ Cat, hearing me, strolls out on the porch through the open slide door,
"Hey Ol’ Cat, shhh! Look, shhh1"
I tease and point toward the twitching brown worm,
the bait on the end of a line,
Ol’ Cat just stares at my finger,
"No, behind the post, see?"
And he takes the bait, Ol’ Cat lunges ahead,
as chipmunk runs back along the ledge,
pretending fast flight to the hedge,
While Ol’ Cat collides again head first into the screen,
…if Chipmunks could laugh,
And would I’d kept a mark for every time
I’ve seen them do this and thought ‘Ouch!"
Then chipmunks’ score would look like all
of Ol’ Cats’ scratches on our couch
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