Patches did not jump as high
That year.
He still came when food hit the dish,
still rubbed against the porch rail,
still looked offended by almost everything,
but slower.
I saw it first when he missed the chair.
Not by much.
Just enough
to make me feel something low and mean
turn over in me.
Cats are supposed to stay cats.
That is one of the dumb rules
kids make without saying out loud.
Porches stay.
Trees stay.
Summer comes back.
Cats stay cats.
He climbed up the second time
and sat down as if nothing had happened.
I acted like nothing had happened too.
That was the deal.
But I watched him more after that.