An orphan cat follows me
down the sidewalk, little collar jangling.
I don’t know his name. I call him
Meatball; he looks like a Meatball.
I think Meatball wants me to pet him.
Think again. Orange runaway
keeps his claws sharp.
I see a wood post with claw marks.
The neighborhood varmints don’t like him.
Garbage cans crash, dashing cats cross,
Meatball a tail length behind. More commotion
out of sight. They know
to stay away
from the post he sharpens his claws on.