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There on the attic
I hear a loud noise
with scurried movements.

Struggle to hold my breath
while my tongue falls out,
I sweat profuse.

It is midnight,
pitch dark and silent
am alone at home.

The bustle comes closer
a thud and a boom
with a forceful jump.

He walks stealthily,
down the aisle,
is a foot high.

My heart races,
I step forward
with caution.

He is four legged
jet black with
white whiskers.

Regaining the wits,
push my way through,
he mews.

It is his turn, trembles
His little eyes glow
in dark. He is panic stricken.

I let him pass, withdraw
from the place. At peace,
resign to bed.

God ! He lives on the rooftop,
while I occupy the house,
a stakeholder!

You build the tension nicely... enjoyed
The profuse line isn’t needed.
An alternative:
Cheeks slick with sweat,
I struggle to hold my breath.


This stanza is awkward;
Regaining the wits,
push my way through,
he mews.

"Awkward" seems awkward to me.
There are other words to point out the feel.
Bob, anyhow, thanks for dropping in.
Glad you enjoyed the poem.
I will modify the stanza in the revision.

Meenas, you're one of the hardest working poets I know.
This is a gentle poem and puts me in mind of Robert Frost with the interplay between creature and homeowner, how to be at peace.

Thanks, Ken.
it is a fun poem.
The cat came down the attic . She comes every day. The day I wrote this poem I awas alone at home.
The cat turned an inspiration.