Originally written on August 6, 2025.

I left the box out,
a silent invitation.
He saw it as a challenge,
a riddle wrapped in curiosity.

He slipped in sideways—
not through the door,
but through the moment
I forgot to guard.

Tail high,
eyes gleaming with mischief,
he prowled like a whisper
with sharp claws.

Not when called,
not when wanted,
only when the rules
had softened like dusk.

He paused—
not out of politeness,
but to check if I was watching,
to savor the thrill.

One paw in shadow,
one in light,
he listened to the silence
and wore a knowing smirk.

He knows the game,
how to vanish
just before the reaching,
how to linger
just long enough
to be missed.

He’s the echo
in an empty room,
the warmth
on a cushion untouched.

He returns
not for comfort,
but for chaos,
to rearrange the furniture
of my expectations,
to curl up
in the heart of uncertainty
and purr.

A stray?
Hardly.
He’s the architect
of thresholds,
the keeper
of almosts,
the trickster
with whiskers
who teaches me
how to wait
without waiting.

—T.A.