Sometimes the cat wakes, his pupils blown wide,
and examines something I cannot see. Usually,
it is spiders, those spindle-legged bastards,
hanging from the ceiling like acrobats. Other times I
find him pawing at an unfortunate moth
or enraged centipede. He toys
with these creatures, ripping them
out of their webs and corners,
biting off their legs.
Rarely he shows mercy
and leaves the insect or arachnid to skitter
away, traumatized. God knows what tales they tell
their children. I prefer these outcomes to
the times he stares openly at shadows,
ears pulled back against his triangular
head, pointing like an
arrow at things I
can only see
at the edges
of my
eyes.

S.E. Clark is a writer who lives in a small town outside of Boston where she wanders through the graveyards collecting names. She graduated from Lesley University’s Creative Writing MFA program in 2015 and her work has previously appeared in Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, the audio magazine The Drum, Rose Red Review, Geek Force Five and Nixes Mate Review.