Shriek from the Shrubbery

 
The wind tugs hopeless  
at a feather on the path  
and I notice there's a swagger  
in your eye  
 
The present you brought me  
lies cold by the porch  
no more than a baby  
fresh from the nest  
barely learning to fly  
 
Before you came home  
you cleaned your claws  
most carefully  
then polished them  
to a shine  
 
You wiped your face  
and washed your paws  
as if to conceal  
your crime  
 
But I shan't forget  
your darker side  
nor where those teeth have been  
when your whiskers twitch  
asleep on my lap  
purring at death like cream