Without pause,
the collie shepherd nudges
the front paw of the boy cat.
He growls,
then leaps into a saunter
toward the basement
of my kitchen table.
Now, the mutt leans
against the window,
breathing heavily.
She is thirsty,
drool gathered
around her blue ball,
but not hungry.
Her eyes, this morning,
have not made the journey
from bowl to me.
She is cool,
and I am casual
about her placement.
The livingness in her movement
plucks my exhale.
These days, I am stagnant
without the cause
for breath.