She stands at the door
like it owes her something.
One paw in,
one paw out,
tail flicking like a metronome
for a song she won’t commit to.

I open it.
She blinks.
Sniffs the air like it’s a question.
Steps forward—
then back.
Then forward again.

It’s not the outside she wants.
It’s the choice.
The ache of maybe.
The thrill of almost.

I leave the door ajar.
She leaves me waiting.
Gotta love that darn cat. 🐈