Sherry Chandler » Cats eyes
Cats eyes
The white cat sat now in the enclosed garden by a stone figure, a young woman holding a broken bowl filled by rain. Finches and wrens sometimes lit there. The cat sat looking down the length of the rose-covered pergola, listening in the early light. It was as if it could pick, from the trills and warbles of birdsong, the tiny threshing of mouse through yew hedge and ground cover. Light filtered through the vines and lay in pearly stripes across the cat’s fur.
Scarves of mist across the grass were dissolving in the sun, dew dripping from the vines and rose petals that covered the pergola. The white cat watched the progress of a drop gathering on the edge of a petal, a dot of blue in a crystal suspension, falling and dispersing before he could swipe it with his paw. The cat yawned, blinked, dozed where it sat.
— Martha Grimes, The Five Bells and Bladebone (Little, Brown, 1987)
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