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Just Another Day

Another Dance

By Joy GratePublished 4 years ago 3 min read

By Joy Grate

1/25/2022

He sits in the shadows of his high perch waiting for the darkness to fold over the small window under the roof’s edge. His day has been filled with the rattle of human activity below. He watches the cat, marbled in calico, as she slips silently down to the cow parlor below looking for a hand out.

She is competition for the rodents that flourish in the grain bin. But the calico cat has her uses. If they worked in tandem the frightened prey run from one to the other to find themselves locked in the grip of claws or talons. Better to choose talons over claws if you want a quick end to the dance. The cat is more likely to toy with her food, delighting in the struggle for freedom.

As the blanket of night falls over land and sky, lift off is so silent that the sleeping pigeons don’t even lift their heads in awareness. Flash of white shadow slips out the window into the soft breeze heard more clearly in the trees than feathers in the wind. Gliding high he seeks the cover of a tree outside the boundaries of human activity to sit, a watchful sentinel waiting, listening for the frightened frantic footsteps of the night foragers.

Luck, all luck of the moment, when the shy cottontails appear in the meadow below to taste the abundant sweet clover leaves, perhaps for the last time. “What’s that?” Too late. Fleet feet scramble, cotton tails disappear into the brush and high grass, except for the one that didn’t hear it coming. Impact, now flight, the ecstasy of seeing the world, the meadow from above, then darkness, a last breath, the final flight.

At least one is pleased with the end. And the Barn Owl returns silently to his shadowed perch high in the darkness of the beams of the barn to watch as the calico cat licks morning milk from her whiskers. He listens to the man humming a tune to his cows while he pulls the rich frothy white milk into metal bucket. He tucks his head and sleeps the day away.

The calico cat stalks across bales of hay, watching the pigeons with sleep ruffled feathers soothing their hungry squabs with melodious coos. Then the flesh game beckons the cat into the grain bin but wary mice are concealed in small hidden spaces under the floor boards. They heard or smelled the cat’s presence. She would wait quietly, tail twitching, for a wrong move. Later the mice are back in their nests to wait her out. The cat’s patience wanes and she moves on to the orchard. Here she listens for the nestling’s gibberish, looking for an escapee trying to fly for the first time, only to alert angry parents. The chase, like the purpose behind it, is intense, focused and fueled by a survival instinct that even the cat can appreciate. Hightailing has its origins here.

The bird-feeder becomes the next target, squirrels gather there to man’s dismay or entertainment depending on the day or the mood. But it is empty and the squirrels are high up in the trees chattering a warning to each other. The cat is interrupting their quest to break into the empty feeder. They all look to the house for the refill. None is coming. Perhaps there’s a mole in the garden, another waiting game.

The end of the day approaches with still no luck so the cat heads for the meadow. Darkness is quietly falling as the cat searches for field mice. As the darkness folds over the meadow the cat starts for home and the milk parlor. The white shadow comes softly silently with deadly intent and the cat escapes for another dance on another day.

And that my friends is life, just another day away from death.

short story

About the Creator

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