This Cat

This cat walked in from nowhere and stares at us
from doorsteps and windowsills with wild green eyes.

It circles our home, watches us sleep, quarrel, eat
cold leftovers, build and break – behind closed doors.
It waits for us to laugh, yowls as if it hears our
hearts rupture over trivial calamities – promises
undone again, dinner burnt crisp on a humid evening
ink spilled on a dear old cushion.

This cat appears to belong to nobody, just a thing
that dropped from the moon or rose from earth’s hair
to teach us lessons. Now we wait every morning
every night as we lock our doors leaving
an inch or two open for tiny claws to slip inside.