If you asked me the question:
“what’s the one thing you want to do before you die?”
I’d say I want to meet the cat who lives outside.
The cat that meows day and night.
The cat that keeps his face out of sight.
The one that will cause the biggest commotion
But will look with wonder and aw with the most precious notion.
The kitty that yells out that people aren't clean.
Meowing at everything but is never seen.
The one who hisses when he doesn't know I’m listening.
I can’t help but listen to the things he knew.
It’s the only thing I have the power to do.
The very few times I've seen him,
He never looks the same.
I don’t know what he looks like
I only know his name.
I wish I knew the way he appears
The way he laughs, or cries, or stressed, or in fear.
All I can do is guess from what I hear.
He talks about leaving.
So long I would be grieving.
Places too far away for me to see him.
Too far for me to do anything.
He might look at me and be grim.
But all I ask for is a chance
A chance see who that cat really is.