(Subject: CONTEST based upon and inspired by Marrilynn Ready’s photograph of a curious cat, with the distinctive coloring of a marshmallow/caramel sundae, who perches within the branches of a leafless tree at the start of spring – http://writingraw.com/index.html)

Ever on the outside gazing toward the inner circle of life – or death –

Through windows, open doors.   O’er fences established to prevent such inclusion,

Raspy purrs, odors of sour earth matting my coat, I pause to catch my breath

Skittering higher approaching the clear blue heavenly sky.  My conclusion?

Freedom’s within reach.  Where?  Sunlight’s barely warming my heart.  Chill in the March air.

Softness awaits somehow, someway.  Deep sleep uninterrupted.  I shall not prey.

Itchiness.  Thirst.  Ears raw, protracted claws dig out mites.  Ne’er stroked by some who care.

Turn tail?  No, climb further up.  Watch.  Close eyes against the wind.  Open them…and stay.

Nicks, scars, wounds oozing slime.  Spring’s ‘round the corner.  Daffodils?  Ah, Pussy Willow.

Baths for cars from water hoses.  Cycling this way and that.  Shopping.  Deserved trips.

Stirring, tickling sides bulging.  Sliding, clinging, scooting down the scratchy trunk though.

No spot for cat with kittens in a SPOTless house. “Ferals shit. Dig up tulips…”

Darkness falls.  Headlights glare.  Dogs howl.  Shrubbery beckons.  I prowl.  Dusty alley.

Sloe-eyes gleam at me from the blackness.  My shoulder bleeds onto the cold, moist ground.

Slash. Hiss.  Pfffffffffft.  We tumble about and onto the street’s pavement.  Sheer agony.

Slouching.  Crouching.  Hugging the Earth.  Licking. No moaning.  From me.  Never one sound.

Patterns.  Surprises.  Evenings.  Afternoons. Wetness. Fleas. Puking feathers and bones.

Nothing.  Sirens.  Exhaust fumes.  Stillness.  Firecrackers.  Thunder.  Vulgar voices.

Guns. Toys. Driveways. Lawn chemicals. Condoms. Snow blowers. Drugs. Church spires. Cell phones.

Pleasure.  Folly.  Booze.  Foolish arguments.  Mirrors. Retirement homes. Choices.

Neither here…nor there.

Orphaned kits huddling.

YOUR feelings to spare?

Abstain from cuddling.