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. 🐈

You think you’re just caring for a cat. Turns out, it’s a masterclass in emotional boundaries, intermittent rewards, and learning to love without expectation.

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