White-Hot Glare

May 22, 2012
Outside a stray tabby reclines on the doorstep, washing.
Orange fur is offset by the white marble underneath a sprawled-out body.
A rough, wet tongue smooths down the ruffled fur that designates the cat
As a wanderer.

Such a rough and ragged cat is out of place on this marble staircase.
He does not luxuriate on linen in his spare time, as your cats may.
He is a hunter, and instead chases chipmunks ceaselessly
To fill his eternally-empty stomach.

Standing at the top of the staircase, looking down along the beach and across the bay,
Two things alone shine against the white-hot glare: this cat, and the vast body of water the cat fears.
Isn’t it funny that such opposite forces, the cat and the water, are linked by this

Seeing me, the cat scrambles onto all fours and squeaks.
He patters up the marble steps. I am a stranger, yet to this nomad,
I am trustworthy. I bend at the waist to pet this cat and feel his warm, sand-filled fur.
I smile.

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