I tell myself in words

ten feet tall, bold, vibrant

so self-assured for inkblots

chicken scratchings

speaking firmly as if

such decisive speech will change

the universe

give me strength

just a feline

and I am a mouse

hunted, or ignored, or treated

as a simple fluffy toy

pounced

tossed

devoured, eventually

hm, unpleasant thoughts

it's just a feline

I will repeat that

as I stare hungrily

into dangerous eyes

waiting, open mouth

kiss or bite

I am a very small mouse

in a very large world

is it any wonder that a cave

even one so well-guarded

seems a fitting

and even proper

hiding place?