With an entitlement louder
than the posture of the young
our rehomed old boy twitches
his left eye and wills little brown
birds calling out Leylandii

to fly in through a three inch
window gap that prevents or denies
his certain death (depending on
your point of view) in the
bathroom of our top floor flat

My other half calls me cat too
but I’m unsure what he means
because conversation has
slimmed down
since we moved in together

although I have grown up
one dress size (maybe more)
so I purr into his armpit
in a gesture of submission
and talk to the walls instead


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