Storm Weaver- 5

Maggie cat has stolen my prize,

She swats it across the floor.

With each swipe of her paw,

I hear the rattle of a pebble,

skipping across the tiles.

She plays with my treasure.

I don’t even know what it means.

“Shoo,” I say. But Maggie pays me no mind.

She’s carrying the bag in her mouth,

And drops it like it’s a dead mouse,

the bag empty.

I get on my knees.

with a flash light,

my hand chase dust bunnies,

reaching under the antique armoire,

I gather them.

There’s one missing,

The brown one,

And the cat smiles.

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