Tonight cats fight.
Feral ones that live in my garage vs. the
indoor/outdoor types who lounge about
in the houses across the street.
Pampered feline soldiers trying to eradicate haggard scavengers,
jealousy and envy for intact reproductive parts.
The wild cats have crusted eyes, mangy fur,
anger and abandonment. Their days are spent sleeping in an old Chevy,
searching for trashcan nutrition.
The loved cats, with their fancy, clean lifestyles
glide through the neighborhood with their shots and gourmet food.
Tags dangle from collars, gleaming in the sun’s relaxation
through the maples and pines.
The unloved cats prowl the night, make survival deals with
raccoons, expose rodent hideouts to
owls in exchange for street knowledge.
They congregate like their human domesticators,
loud purrs and systematic scrounging for survival.
I’m rooting for those feral cats. The ones
who never should have stood a chance.
They don’t seem to bother the birds flocking at my feeders
as much as the one’s that visit the vet do.