Their sharp, high calls woke me.
Almost violent, in 3 am silence.
A loud skittering of claws drew me to the window.
To my sleepy eyes, they were as two leaves blown in the wind.
Whirling madly across the road,
Locked together like fighters and ducking under cars.
Backs all arched, leaping like the tarmac was lava.
Just revelling in their pre-dawn kingdom
When the only human noise is soft breathing.
They were kings.
Copyright Tom Tide 2018