Sparrow (I think)

He came to me this morning, meowing,

muddy paws twinged with bits of grass, leaving traces across the platform.

He’s excited, and I can tell his victory meows mean he’s sharing the win.

I greet him warmly with pets and soft tone, congratulating on a being such a great hunter. This one is still encased in feathers; his leftovers are typically less appealing.

With a paper towel I pickup the offering, delicate creature with a snapped neck. It’s a sparrow, I think; this one won’t sing anymore.

Sometimes a proper burial is in order

Sometimes we remain in a hefty bag

Perhaps one day I’ll learn how to cook

sparrow

I’ve done duck and chicken, plucky little things

From start to finish before

Today though, is not the day for food
There is more work to do

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