Study of two cats

The strange cat curls up on our lawn.

Gus sits a yard or two away, wary,

intrigued, paws tucked in close.

A few leaves drift from the linden.

Despite appearances, I can tell

that every hair on that insouciant spine

is studying Gus. Gus turns his head,

seeming to gaze off toward the peonies.

With cats it's instinct. A poet

may take years learning to look away.