Of mice and fish

We still have mice. As far as the cats are concerned, it’s a non-issue. Trixie is more interested in sardines. At 11 this morning, I started preparing them (the sardines) for lunch, keeping one eye on Trixie sitting on the sink next to me, the other on Bix and Redmond, hovering behind, waiting for a moment’s inattention.
Suddenly, Bix leapt away, around the table, skidding on the carpet, Redmond following. Trixie sat and watched while Bix crashed around in the veranda, overturning the furniture. He was bouncing about, trying to get behind a big wooden chest. I had a look. Mouse. The mouse made a dash for it, Bix on her tail, another chair knocked over. When Redmond saw what the fuss was about, he gave the canine equivalent of an eye roll and went back to watch the sardines.
That was 11am. It’s now 5.30pm. Redmond is asleep in his bed, Trixie is asleep outside in the porch, and Bix is still standing in the kitchen, staring at the place behind the potato crate where the mouse appeared. We still have mice, but at least now we have a mouser.

Heat cracks
brittle as bones
in a dry river bed
sky bright as mirror scales glitters
blinding.