by Maria Bonar

Willie wagtails share my garden, with doves
honeyeaters and a bobtail lizard. We live in
harmony until my grandson’s cat Stacey visits.
Last year, she caught a fledgling wagtail.

This time, the wagtails show their fury
at the first glimpse of the marauding cat.
The air is filled with flapping wings,
loud chirping and scolding.

Surprisingly, they are joined by a young dove
who isn’t as nimble as the wagtails, but zooms in
narrowly missing Stacey’s jaws. More like
a kamikaze pilot than a precision dive-bomber.

All of them end up round the side
of the house, under the Hills Hoist.
I’m unsure who is chasing who at this point
but collar the cat, lock her inside.

Next morning, Stacey crouches on her belly
hackles raised. Sniffs the brick pavers
follows the scent into the golden canes.
A rustling and slithering in the leaf litter.

The cat twitches, yellow eyes unblinking.
Pounces, misses. Slinks behind a plant pot
stalking her prey. Watches, one paw
in the air, part pointer, part pussycat.

Later, she comes inside, deposits a small lizard
with black stripes on the kitchen floor.
Plays with it, lets it go, pounces again.
I steal it from her, release it, minus its tail.

• Ballajura, WA
  traditional land of the Whadjuk
  people of the Nyoongar Nation