Feathered fruit.

What I imagine my house-bound cat thinks about:

Ears
pricked forward
leaves rustle
breeze ruffles
her fur.

Stillness
she crouches
tail flicks
she picks
the juiciest fruit.

Feathered fruit
ripe for the taking
it hops along branches
and she is racing –
racing across the grass
she must fly past
the lowest branches.
She springs from her haunches
cat flying, cat frenzied,
ball of fur ball of death
flying towards them –
they scream!

The kill is clean.
She lands,
four paws stand
back on the earth.

Now a dearth
of juicy feathered fruit
in the tree.