Her bushy tail
is bent and telling
of her trust having
been broken
in the past.
He knew her,
before I did.
Each night before
reaching our door
he’d spend time.
Talk to her,
coax her,
show her,
she could –
if she wanted to –
trust him.
Now she and her
bent tail
seek us out,
come to our balcony,
peer into the window
battling her own
reflection
remnants of a wild
look in her eye…
until she sees
her friend.
She miews
pleadingly with perseverance
Because she knows
he will always
come out to her
pat her,
and she can’t help
but purr.
Her name
tag reads
Smooch.