With every new first-floor window
I open, the more eloquent my cat
becomes, making her plea for release
from house arrest.

I’ve tried a harness and leash,
tried to figure out how to close
Eastern Avenue to idiots, I’m at wit’s
end (’twas a short walk.)

I try to claim it’s for her, not me,
we’re used to each other, she has lots
of windows, knows where its warm
or cool to sleep.

We’re bonded, we’re companions,
but if I love her, should I set her free?