Our cat stands on the bed, front paws firmly planted on the headboard. Unmoving, slitted eyes are fixed on the rose of Sharon tree swaying the thickness of a screen away. Sparrows hold a raucous meeting on the branches, their numbers ebbing and flowing with the topic. Instinct urges her to be part of the agenda. Instead of growls or whimpers, she vocalizes rolling, chirping syllables of desire. The tableau calls to mind a man widowed through a quarter of his life, quietly affixed to a park bench near the day’s end, missing the company of a woman.