Front Row Seat

Staying inside the kitchen was beginning to feel stale, so I slipped past the screen door and headed down the driveway. Right along the lawn, a metal sprinkler suddenly began its rhythmic, clacking hiss, sweeping a heavy arc of water across the grass. Walking through that seemed entirely unnecessary. I backed up until my tail hit the handle of a plastic rake leaning against the garage wall, wedging myself neatly into a dry sliver of shade. From there, I watched a sparrow make three frantic, flapping dives through the spray to catch a moth. It looked exhausting. I didn't move a single muscle.