Evander stares at us through
the French doors, meowing to come in.
The curtains are down to launder,
he knows we’re sitting there on the couch.
I tell you that’s why we need curtains,
though cats know without seeing.
You don’t last long before
you cave in to his needs.
Just as you did earlier when I cried
and you reached out your hand
across the stack of books
sitting between us.