bell the cat

The cat's in the room, again
- no, out. Gone off without leave,
seemingly. Never leaving at all
- just gone. And oft, you can't tell
if she's here. A curt, thorough search
of her favorite haunts
just reveals where she's not,
just now.
She moves
without notice, taking
small pride in the room
for doubt she slips in
to fill, and the one
that she leaves behind,
empty and just as still, except us

huge lumbering bums.
What things! She's very
aware where we are, and it comes
quite insultingly. A touch put out
about it, she finds. We're
no fun to stalk
at all.

There is no rush, but
there never much was
for a cat among humankind.

When we see her mid-motion, it's only
a favor - example she's trying to set
with a slink, sinuosity forward
and bored intent, antenna-tail
high, to switch and to swish
informatively. "See? See!
See this?
This behavior?
Beautiful, don't you think?

It's how to walk.

I swear, you would never
have known, but for me.
You'd never have seen this
at all, if I hadn't put on
deliberate stroll, as I chose
to show you this. Otherwise
I would wait. I habitually do
- for the wide, black bands
your attention holds in.
I just get up and leave,
I'm aware of them.
So are you.

But the difference is I
am aware with ease.

Still I cared enough,
or at least this time,
to try,

to teach you a thing
or two, by and by. Dear kittens

you're not going to last in this world.

Someone's going to snap you up - and then
who'll feed me?" A touch hurt
in the dignity, poor little girl.

She concludes her walking speech
and leaves. Even letting us see
her go. Her name
is bell,
she moves silently.
We can tell.

More than that,
we cannot know.