Panther on the Roof
My great-grandmother shot a panther through the flimsy roof
Mountain lion she called “a ole painter”
Her shot went straight and true through the ceiling and on through the rotting roof,
Into the belly of the big cat as it clawed and dug at the splintered and tarred roof
The mountain lion must be hungry to be so bold
Desperately trying to get inside to eat her babies
Dead, she meant to shoot it
The crack of the old rifle scared the youngest who cried out
The panther fell off the roof and onto the ground with a thud,
And then looking at the black mountain lion on the ground
She saw the skinny animal had her own babies
Hidden in a den somewhere
Great-grandmother looked in the lion’s eyes
The cat stared back
Mutely, instinctively they understood each other
She allowed no one outside to look
At the dying mountain lion
Until poppa got home
She moved for a good while as blood ran out of her belly
Poppa shot her in the head to end her suffering
Shame the kits will die, poppa said.
Grandmother started supper
Tears running down her face
