The Moment Before the Cat Pounces

I have watched her do this a hundred times

my tabby crouched low in the hallway,

every muscle coiled like a spring wound tight,

tail twitching once, twice, then still.

Her yellow eyes fixed on something I cannot see,

some movement in the corner, some shift

in the ordinary world that calls to her

ancient hunting soul.

This is the moment I live for

when time stretches like taffy,

when the whole universe holds its breath

and waits for what comes next.

Her haunches bunch, her whiskers twitch,

and I swear I can feel the electricity

running through her small body,

the pure intention gathering itself

into one perfect point of focus.

O democracy of predator and prey!

O beautiful tension of muscle and desire!

Here in my kitchen, evolution plays out

its oldest drama, and I am witness

to the sacred pause before action.

She rocks back almost imperceptibly,

weight shifting to her hind legs,

and in this suspended second

she contains all of wildness,

all of forest and fang and fierce joy,

compressed into six pounds of tabby fur.

The refrigerator vibrates, the clock ticks,

somewhere a neighbor starts his car,

and still she waits, still she gathers

this moment coiled like a snake,

winding tighter, tighter.

I have seen this same expression

on the face of the pitcher

before he throws his fastball,

on the dancer before she leaps,

on the child before she asks

the question that will change everything.

It is the face we wear

when we stand at the edge

of our own becoming,

when we feel possibility

coiled in our bellies

like a live wire.

And then—the strike!

Swift as lightning, graceful as wind,

she launches herself across the room

toward whatever phantom mouse

or shadow or dancing mote

called her into this moment of pure being.

I clap my hands and laugh,

startling her mid-pounce,

and she sits down immediately,

begins grooming her paw

as if nothing extraordinary happened,

as if she didn't just show me

how to gather all of myself

into one bright point of intention,

how to wait for the perfect moment

to become exactly who I am.