Even with those ice-blue eyes, he’s soft
in every way, hairless belly bulging
like a Buddha’s, crooked tail a hoisted flag,
he’s clumsy, missing most leaps by half a foot.
He pursues me, lies on my pillow, seeks out
my scent. With one eye on the monitor,
where a bird flits across the screen,
he grooms me, pink tongue feathered
all over with small hooks, but would never
deign to play with any silly toy I wave
before his eyes. He is my other self, the one
who wonders what’s in that tree, who needs
only a window to feel he’s seen the world.