motty

Snow tiger under the gunera,
his favourite place at the bottom of the garden.
Green eyes wide and still,
his body pressed flat to the thick grass.

Mum’s favourite bird,
Flitting around the weeping willow.
A long tail to be proud of,
bobbing his dark head against his cream chest.

A flash of stripes,
Like a fat flying squirrel, he pounced.
Triumph hidden,
Behind a mass of feathers; sneaking under the alliums.