I was the mouse to be caught for eight years.
From birth,
I learned to run,
to hide in small, ***** places where no one aimed to be to safety.

The cat was born for this.

And when it lost sight of me for two or three, it grew hungrier, mapped out my footprints,
and salivated at the thought of my shape
as I cared less to scurry.

I forgot what it felt like to scatter, to feel like I was doing what I was built to do.
It was only over three that it saw me again saw I hadn't grown at all.

And so, it stopped searching.
I missed the tabby that clawed at my door not to catch me,
but to test my tiny heart and legs, and maybe, for my ego,
to get away with purpose.