Mid-stride,
he collapses—
not fallen,

just hungry.

As dramatic as

a high school production

of Romeo and Juliet.

Spine long as breath,
he stretches until the room
pauses in respect.

Deliberately
he yawns:
a flare of pink,
a carnivorous 

cathedral of teeth.
Then trots off,
tail held high—
a banner, not a question.

Tucks himself into a loaf:
compact, poised,
centered like a monk
or a lit match.

He snakes 

between table legs,
vaults from 

shadow to light,
a Victorian ghost

in a fur coat.

The chase is quiet now:
a flicker, a shimmer,
a twitch of ribbon
under the sofa.