It's Still Life

The For Sale Sign (Part 1) (A Cat’s Crisis of Convenience)

The cat sits on the Old Woman’s fence,
tail twitching like rhythmic panic.

“Do you see that?” he hisses, eyes wide as saucers.
“A sign.
A literal sign.
Your neighbours are selling my secondary residence.”

The Old Woman sips her tea.
“It’s their house, cat.
Not yours.”

“Semantics!
I have a sunspot there!
A window ledge with optimal bird-viewing!
A food bowl that refilled itself twice a day!
This is an eviction!
A betrayal!
A… !”

The crow lands beside the cat, tilting his head.
“Could be worse.
They could be moving to Wales.”

The cat’s fur puffs.
“WALES?
WALES?
Do they have sardines in Wales?
This is unacceptable.”

He leaps down,
pacing in tight, agitated circles.
“I’ll need to secure my position here.
Draft a formal tenancy agreement.
Maybe… increase my cuteness output.”

The Old Woman raises an eyebrow.
“You could always just… go with them.”

He stops.
Stares at her as if she’s suggested
he take up underwater basket-weaving.

“And leave you?
Who would supervise your gardening?
Who would you play chess with?
Who would grace your floor?”

He lifts his chin.
“No.
I am staying.
This is my primary residence now.
You may congratulate me
on my permanent decision.”

Then he struts inside,
head held high,
as if he hasn’t just been
emotionally adopted
by a woman who still insists
he isn’t hers.