It takes two trips to load my car. It’s not that I have that much, it’s what I have in hand. Two cups. One cup of coffee for the road, and one flask of tea for when I get to school. Two drinks. Two trips. I leave the door open as I travel back and forth, and my cat watches.
Most days he sits at the door. Observing.
Some days he wanders out to the front step. Ready to return.
Yesterday, he moved out beyond the porch with purpose. Tail up, he stepped out to the garden path. Then he stopped. Frozen. His front right paw suspended. Ears forward. Step. Crouch. Step. Step-step. Slinking in hunter mode.
Curious, I followed. Was it a bird? I have seen him catch a bird in flight. I have seen feathers strewn about. I have seen his savage skill. As much as I hated this vicious side, part of me wanted to see him take charge and show his young nimble self.
I leaned over to look as a noise next door, stops him. He turns and darts towards the front door.
At the doorstep, he stops. Turns and looks back, as if to see if he’s being followed, and runs inside.
To my eyes there was nothing.
What is going through his mind?
Does he instinctively know his ability to gage a distance, to execute a leap is compromised?
Does he feel an aching in his joints?
Whatever the cause, I was glad that he had the good sense or instict to get inside. Safe. Out of the neighborhood antics.
As he sits in the doorway, looking out, I give him a good bye stroke and close the door.
I imagine him turning to a warm space to sleep. Waiting till I return.
To Read To Write To Be 