In the Jungle
(september 1993)

Pick up a cat:
it's young and its fur
ripples silky in your fingers.
Hold it under the soft belly
so you can scratch its ears with your other hand.
Can you feel it purring,
breastbone vibrating against your fingers?
Or is it a growl, warning you to be cautious,
that this is no Domestic Animal
but a Wild Thing?
The cat thinks it is a fierce fighter,
feral, fearsome,
like its long-removed ancestors.
It chases its tail in a frenzy,
like a tiger after a gazelle:
the tall weeds behind your home are its jungle,
the yapping chihuahua next door its wild wolf enemy.
The young cat stalks your shoelace with merciless intent.
Take it inside and give it a bowl of milk.
Let it curl up on your lap afterward:
it isn't easy,
maintaining the legacy of millennia.