sat in the living room in the dark,
with our feet up on the dining table
or on the sills of open windows
drinking wine and talking because
we so rarely have time for that
and watched a rottweiler
kill the neighbor’s calico cat across the street
in the front yard of the house the pig farmer’s
daughter built.
the cat was 13 years old and belonged to the
old lady on the corner.
it was just minding it’s own business.
a minute before the dog killed it,
i saw it out the window and said “meow, meow”
and it glanced over and quickened its
pace like a shy girl walking past
construction workers at lunchtime.
i even made a joke about it.
it turns out that’s what you do when a
dog like that kills a cat: watch.
we heard a noise like a shopping cart
falling down stairs into a garbage can.
we looked out the window and there four
people stood, one being a man with a leash in his
hand. it was coiled up, not attached to
anything, including the dog with the
limp cat in its mouth. shaking it good.
i yelled at them. i yelled at the dog.
the man told the dog, he told it “you
idiot.” the dog put down the cat.
the cat lay in the grass the pig farmer’s
daughters had mowed only that morning,
for the first time, having seeded it
a few weeks ago, month maybe.
it lay in the grass, and shook a little, then
it was still. “you idiot,” the man said.
to the dog.
we told him where the owner lived and
he went and told on himself.
my wife called the neighbor just to be sure.
the neighbor came out in her nightgown.
the dog blocked her way. she told
the owner to move it. “he won’t do
anything,” he said, the leash still coiled
in his hand. the dog sat in the middle
of the street like a good dog.
the woman carried her cat home by
the legs.