Chapter 7

31 8 4

by Tom

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by Tom

I says to hoomans, "Go knock,"
watching as taller hooman
inspects the fence,
as if it latches
differently
than other fences,
until shorter hooman
walks up,
thumb-flips the latch,
and exchanges
a daring glance;
I can tell
shorter hooman,
or Hooman #1,
decided it's time
to confront the lizard-person
in the dilapidated house
to retrieve Happy Rock,
our treasure,
but Hooman #A
is just going along with it.

Still,
since Hooman #A is taller,
he walks a foot ahead
of shorter hooman,
both apprehensive yet
incited to not let one
go without the other.

This is one of my
favorite qualities
of hoomankind:

In face of great fears,
and obvious danger
of Proxima Centauri B
invasion, hoomans refuse
to stand by as one
goes on ahead, alone;

I just wish
Feline Societies
could rally all hoomanity
to come together as one,
throughout
the little blue dot,
instead of only joining
together in small groups.

But who knows
what will happen
in the future
if hoomanity is faced
with the added pressure
of an alien invasion
on our paws and hands.

An old lady answers
the door, interrupting
my cattish thoughts,
her hair thinned
by the stress
of unhappy living.

Old Woman:
What?

Hooman #A:
Our Happy Rock is missing,
and the other day,
when I walked by,
I saw it in your yard;
so I would like it back.

Old Woman:
I'm not a thief!

Hooman #A:
But it's one of a kind...

Hooman #1:
A couple of bullying kids
live here too, right?
I've seen how they treat
the kids next door.
Couldn't they
be responsible
for taking it?

And that does it:

The lady's face rips off
as a three-headed lizard
emerges from her neck
so I bunny-leap
with claws out, roaring,
"Protect hoomans!"

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