Cat
struck hard and fast,
and that mouse was hers.

She did what a cat does
and then went and sat in the window,
purring easily.  

I did not scold her
for choosing a death-path,
or for manifesting a “negative energy.”

Called it what it was — a killing.
Did what was needed — discarded
the body, gave the cat a pat.

She is here in this house
to give and take delight, to love and be loved;
I also expect her to kill for me

as coldly and swiftly
as she possibly can — as only
she possibly can.  

Not every violent act
is taken out of anger.  Some
we even reward.

Thus, I do not pray
for her eternal soul — I provide 
tuna, warmth, an unalloyed

affection born from a kinship with her,
one reflected in my relative comfort
at seeing every torn, stiffening mouse-corpse

as an affirmation
of each of us doing
what comes
naturally.