Catnip

Catnip sitting on the sill
Stretches a veined hand out
To touch the window
While trouble stirs below.

An afternoon sun pokes
A beam through the pane
To strike green and fur alike
In the heat and calm

As pungent aromas waft
With warmed air's rise
To swirl around the room
And pull attention to itself.

When a small furry mitten
Leaps the distance to hook a nail
And strangle the throaty stalk
With a heady thrill.

On the floor,
Resting over it's shattered heap,
A toothless tabby
Succumbs to gumming the soggy pulp.