Disconsolate wail
sick yellow light stains the air
oak breathes and listens
A cat wailed outside our door, Katie (our cat) wasn’t impressed by this, sometimes she’ll get up and investigate, but she just raised her head from the sofa and looked at me, almost suggesting I look out the window for her, as she was too lazy to get up herself.
Which I did of course, you shouldn’t defy a cat right?
I peeped through the curtains, couldn’t see any living thing, whatever cat it was it was probably annoyed at being hammered by the unrelenting rain and just coincidentally happened to voice its disapproval outside our door. My view was just the usual dim yellow of the street lamp, polluting the road and cars like a set from some cheap noir film. It was all two tone, yellow and black. The only thing I could hear was the patter of rain.
Our oak door, sturdy and alive was stretching itself into spring, it shrinks and groans with the seasons. Whatever cat it was, our door was fast shut. Behind this barrier, I thought about catching some sleep. Katie looked at me, satisfied with my work, she told me I was allowed.
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