Between two fingers, a torn piece of
Bread spread with butter,
Reaching out I bait, but
Things don’t go as was planned:
The cat meows, but doesn’t eat off my hand.
On my haunches, I; and on its back the grey cat:
We watch with the respect, a suitable gap
And I — tired of waiting — turn back,
Up to go. You meow a note stronger:
As I stop, stare as before.