Pollie is a purry puss
her tongue quite rough
with lick
she's soft
upon the bedclothes
so black to stroke
so thick

yet when
the trees have darkened
and the little people sleep
she stretches from a dreaming
that whiled the day away
and pads out thru
the opened door
into an ancient time

she listens to the shadows
dilates her yellow eye
and breathes
into the whisker touch of night

then hunts with clawsharp senses
and predacious needle teeth
the crawling cobweb ventricles
that veil nocturnal death