The Seat Thief

The prowler waits

Out of sight, eyes wide.

For me to make my move.

Pupils as big as saucers,

She stalks upon her prey.

Off my chair I move – to eat, to brew a cup, take a break as an author’s

Wont to do – now she pounces, hopeful that I’ll approve

But when I return, I give her a glare, duel of the fates

So she looks at me, as if to say:

“Hey, if it fits, I sits!”

 

 

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