They hang around my house and watch me as I come and go.
It is as if they pay the mortgage and their property has been violated by my presence.
Two stray cats stab me with stares of loathing as I go about the business of living. They eat from my trash, take shelter under my house, and cry into the bedroom floorboards on nights too cold. I never invited them in, and yet they seem to know I will not refuse them. They have a wildness about them, a sleek, dark beauty. They know I love cats, but they also know that I love dogs. And they despise such weakness, such mixed loyalties.
Why is it they remind me so much of you?
Were you ever happy when you had me? At times, you absolutely did not want me. Others, you had to have me. Most of the time, what you wanted was for me to reverse myself just for you. You acted like some spoiled, insecure child who just had to make sure that indeed, in this one way, the world did revolve around you.
You know you cared, but you could not properly show it. That just would have been bad form, wouldn’t it?
You could never be both mature and direct. You still can’t.
Now you are sending me little notes, though you know it is inappropriate.
You are like a stray cat mewling under my house.