stalking the yards without care.
While Ava VanPowell plotted murder most foul
for her books, at her desk by the stair.
So Scratchy would fight and Ava would write
til the sky would near break with the dawn.
Ava opened the sash and in Scratchy would dash
and they'd both greet the day with a yawn.
They would put on their slippers and breakfast on kippers
and chat about scraps, plots and muddles.
Then ‘neath duvets they’d lay, tucking in for the day
and drift off to sleep in a cuddle.
© Mo O'Hara 2015