Dwight Gray
When a stranger abandoned three cats
behind our fence they found their way
into our yard, fur and bones, hunger a greater
force than the fear of this species that hurt them.
With time the mother, then the sibling
vanished and the smallest, voice gone from wailing,
made a room under the tomato plant leaves—
we didn’t notice then, the lizards that also lived
in our sanctuary, feasting off bugs, had vanished.
Getting closer took time, strategic movements
of food bowls and water. We noticed small marks
in what fruit grew, noticed the return of bugs.
We didn’t see, when we crept close to the kitten,
the eyes of a killer doing what survival took,
so focused we were on winning her trust.
By August our feral guest had come to stay;
by September a kindness began undoing what
cruelty began, a trophic cascade. A season passed and we,
cat perched in the sill, watched squash grow back in full,
leaves intact, evidence at last the lizards returned.
