nine lives later

i observe a cat, so gentle and small,

climbing the highest peaks, the highest walls,

exploring the outside world from inside.

its owners painted a false image; they lied.

he dwells solely on an old radio on the window sill.

a glance in that direction

and a crossbreed of affection

fill my peripheral vision with such light.

can he survive another night

in this household calm and soothing?

is there a reason behind his constant moving?

they say that curiosity killed the cat,

and now nine lives later i still observe the place where he once sat.

its lonesome colors perfume my eyes with wonder.

so many thoughts ponder my mind.

did he take refuge in that radio?