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House Cat Kahlua ignores me, slickly running fast. Pre dawn tin can feeding complete. Not staring through the patio glass door. Watching squirrels, birds, occasional felines wandering past in this chill November rain. Just hurried decisive certainty... no "thank you" recognition, no learned civilities. Why does she scurry so? Back to bed I know... alongside my wife asleep, curled up, head's hidden, at milady's feet. Daylight lifts life's curtained arrival, symmetrical figure, serene at peace. Hiding in bedroom closets, seeking shelves ajar, every nook and cranny, never roams too far. Later each morning, I'll call her, pleading, Kahlua where are you? the ornery one, unresponsive initially unseen. Begins to purr, "Who me?" Looks quizzically astounded... not housebound, absolutely unfettered, unabashedly contented... mysteriously set free.  Author: Roy Schoenberg - 20th November 2001
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