She wakes from slumber

and he’s already waiting

for breakfast.

She makes it, he eats it

and leaves. She doesn’t

know where he goes or

what he does all day long; sometimes

he stays, keeps her company

until night comes.

 

He’s selfish. He seduces her,

gives her attention, but only

when it’s convenient for him.

He’ll cradle into her, feel her warmth,

as she feels his; the closeness

fills her up, staves off the loneliness.

She caresses him, gently, sporadically

throughout his routine: eat, sleep,

 

He uses her,

as he pleases.

He causes her to worry, especially

when he doesn’t return

after dark but

she doesn’t worry that much.

She signed up for this, all of it:

his vagueness,

his nonchalance,

the minimal amount of fucks

he gives,

his eternal incapacity

to understand her.

 

The reality is

she doesn’t care that much. Not

anymore.

He can look after himself. He’s quite capable.

Cats

usually are.

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