by Camilla Jean
“Jeez,” I overheard him say.
“What are these cats?
Freakin’ mountain lions?”
And at first I thought he looked out of the window,
but realized it was glass block.
So he must have been looking at his mail fresh from the mailbox.
Maybe he looked at a bill and the cost of feeding his cats, it occurred to me.
He didn’t know it was me coming down the steps,
on softly padded feet beside him.
When he saw me, he startled.
I looked at him a moment, and decided not to terrorize him,
and I said, with my freshly washed coiffe, firm, but gently,
“It’s just me.”