with the stray
cat that wanders up to my
porch as i sit out
and read.
she moves cautiously,
gazing with green eyes,
then settles down
in the sun between my knees.
i can't take you in,
i tell her.
i'm sorry. i can get you
a bowl of buttermilk
if you'd like.
i can stroke your tail,
your back, your silky ears,
but i can't take you in
and love you like you deserve
to be loved.
i'm sort done with rescue
missions.
done with that.
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