You told me your cat died today
and that you were afraid to go inside
because then her absence would greet you
the way she used to, nuzzling her upturned head
against your leg, a soft purr
telling you how happy she was to have you home.
And in my haste to return to my two loving puppies
barking and calling on the other side of the door,
I didn’t think
to invite you in
for a drink
and some conversation,
a healthy distraction
from your sadness
over keeping company with silence
rather than your cat
of seventeen years.
Or, as you said,
if she’d have been a human.