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He stares out the window 
for hours, 
that little stray cat we’ve taken in. 
Watchful and serene by the warmth 
of the daylight, 
contemplating the sun. 
His belly has grown plump since that 
bitter December day, his fur now white 
and clean— 
And though we know he loves us when 
the winter nights grow cold, 
I can’t blame him. 
The windowsill is littered with fur, 
And every warm lazy summer day, 
From out in the backyard you see 
two curious yellow eyes, 
Trying to remember the smell 
of freedom.

Imaginary Adventures