Yesterday, the Ninnie cat ventured forth in the dark. She boldly went where Ninnie rarely goes for fear of things that go bump and bite. Usually silent, we heard her growl and hiss beneath the window, a scuffle then the thud as she ran (she thuds). I flung open the window and called, but she didn’t reply (she’s a cat of sorts) and she can’t jump so high anyway. Fearing the worst, we grabbed flashlights and ran for the door. She was on the porch, still growling, staring into the night. The flashlight showed the terror, the wild beast, unperturbed beneath the window where I had hung, shouting—a hare.

Night fears hang

invisible threads a veil

to common sense.