Late Night Tramps
It was 530 in the morning and I was walking home. Not really drunk or leaving a bar, or party, just tired. I saw three stray cats having a little party behind the cobbled stoop of a weathered astoria apartment. I stopped to investigate, and maybe get a pet or two. I was too clumsy. They scattered. One took off ahead of me and two behind. Looking back I saw two of them run right over each other but without breaking stride, trying to escape me as a potential predator. After loosing sight of the shabby looking tabbys I looked back to find the third. She sat. She had scurried, at first, but now seemed unafraid. I chicked and cherped trying to catch her attention but did so in vein. As she sat there preping her beautiful orange and white fur for the next hunt I thought “sometimes I wish I was one of these late night scamps.” I picked up my bag to walk the last twenty five steps to my door and she bolted under an old broken ford. Some nights I really wish I was one of those late night scamps.
