I flatten myself to the ground. I make myself the ground. I had crawled through thick sticky bushes to achieve my vantage now I need only to be quiet and wait. Small finches with red breasts skip within my reach. For a second my gaze shifts and follows one of the clueless tiny birds as it pecks the ground within inches of my nose. I force my eyes back into a focused stare that contains only the point of capture I have selected. I wait. I have trained myself to wait. A hunter with patience takes little risk. Failure is in haste. Things my mother taught me. Things my mother demonstrated. My eyes blink open. I must have fallen asleep. But sleep is good. Sleep teaches my surroundings I belong here, that I am no more than the ground, nothing to be feared. A gray Mockingbird alights on a small branch of the Walnut tree just six feet away. My stare is complete and does not waver as I see my goal approach. The Mocking bird, oblivious to me moves to the short grass under the tree and begins to peck the ground. I despise his freedom. By what right does he fly when I cannot? The Mockingbird moves away from me, his white tail feathers make my blood boil. I can feel the hair on my back move. The time has come. The waiting is over. I crawl from the cover of the bushes, my stomach drags the ground, my movement is slow – so slow even the finches continue their silly games. The distraction offered by the finches is welcome. The small birds do not distract me. I pounce. The Mockingbird hears as my back paws push me forward in the short mowed grass and he takes flight without looking to see what he fears. My right front paw touches his tail and for a part of a second he flounders. My left paw comes up as I twist in the air but I’m to late, the Mockingbird leaves behind two of his worthless tail feathers. I fall to the ground. The Cat Chow has made me fat and slow. I slink back into the bushes and lick the edges of my mouth. Wondering what it is that drives me to continue this fruitless hunt.