She wears a coat one shade darker than the darkest of nights. Her eyes, two glowing green orbs, unblinking in their concentration. Her ears alert to the whispers of whispers. The faintest rustle of a leaf, the smallest twitch of a twig – she misses nothing.
Her teeth, sharp. Her claws more so. She has no qualms over whom her next victim will be. Her body the perfect killing machine.
She wears a coat softer that the softest of clouds. Her eyes, close half way, brimming with love. Her ears perk up whenever we walk by. The laughter of the boys in the next room, tucking them into bed at night, staying, curled up on their chest until they are asleep or the sound of a piece of macaroni and cheese dropping to the floor – she misses nothing.
Birds fear her. Mice run in terror. Squirrels shiver in her presence. She brings us gifts of the dead, once sometimes twice in a day. We have considered dressing her in a silver bell to warn her prey of the black shadow that is her, lurking under a bush or crouching behind a tree, but wonder if it would crush her spirit, the bell of her despair tinkling merrily with her every step.
And then there is Darwin, the general order of things – natural selection and all that. I try to convince myself that she is helping out nature, picking off the slow, distracted, lower- witted creatures. Then she goes and brings me a brown baby bunny and a tiny yellow finch all in one day. I shake my head at the cruelness of it all.
As I watch her, in her element, I know that I would not last a day in the Garden of Delilah.