Cat

Poem for a lost friend.

Photo by Christina Hernández on Unsplash

You often walked ten steps ahead of me. Except
when we were on the stairs. Then, and only then,
did you see a point in walking with me, without care for
my safety. Dashing between my legs like a mobile
obstacle course, as I made my way up and down.
But always waiting at either end for me, poised
for a back rub. You little shit. I picture you there
still, waiting for me to stroke your fur again.