In the Idiomatic Inn

Western Express; wide-brimmed,

dipped dangerously

over stubbled jaw,

he batted open

the swinging saloon doors

with a soft thud and distinct

meow,

and ambled in

to the suddenly shushed place,

swinging

a hefty mottled cat

over his head

like a lasso.

The cat whirled,

grinning through the g-force

and stagnant smokey air,
which curled reluctantly away, 

seemingly unrattled

by the ordeal.

After a few more wild spins,

he altered the angle

and swooped the cat

down for a well-rehearsed

landing on the ale-varnished floor .

The cat sidled up

to his heavy spurred boots

and arched affectionately,

chirruping for a stroke

or perhaps a feed.

The regular cow crew

sat transfixed and

unmoving like

background characters

in a bad bad animation,

colourless in the

smoggy peripheries of
The Idiomatic Inn.

The rogue looked

down passed his pistols

and at his feline friend

before cracking a five-star smile

and blowing away the silence,

There’s more room in this one, Elvis.

We’ll drink here!