The Cat in Spring

that old cat,
her daily gifts --
 
when spring is born
her interest shifts
from sitting
on an old man's lap,
the window sill
and day long naps
to roaming fields
around the house
and stalking  
bird
and hare
and mouse
 
she lays their bodies
at my step
tattered,
bloody,
broken,
ripped
 
and who would think
that one so sweet
who purrs and nuzzles
at my feet
could be the brunt
of nature's wrath
and become a vicious
psychopath
whose dumping ground
is my front door --
 
another bunny
hops no more