The Cat I Mistook for A Bird

I see a white bird large as a hawk
halfway up the ridge across the road.
It faces me, outlined by the green of the pasture.
I’ve never seen another like it.
It moves then, turns sideways,
and I realize my mistake.
It’s a cat, gray except for chin, neck, chest and legs,
a brilliant white forming the perfect image of a bird.
That was eight years ago.
Since then I’ve learned her habit of independence,
a barn cat that has nothing to do with people
though she’ll accept scraps if placed far enough away.
She hunts the ridge and the barns,
both mine and my neighbors.
She must be wily to have escaped so long
the appetites of hawks, coyotes and foxes.
Each spring she leads around two or three kittens
sired by some invisible father.
They eventually disappear, adopted or fallen prey.
Every year I search for her absence
but she always reappears.
This year she is followed by a kitten
grown almost as big as she,
dark brown but with the white bird outline
of chin, neck, chest and legs.
I look up this morning at the ridge
and though I know better,
I see a large bird facing me,
brilliant white against the green,
unmoving … at rest,
poised for flight.