Cat Door

O, rectangle of nothingness,

Rigid in quiet possibility,

A means of egress from the cold,

Or regress from a quarrel,

A way of escape to the wild places.

Tiny emitter of whiskers, paws and fur,

Savior from litter, like glitter,

Spread over a child’s floor.

You’re a trickster, allowing in new friends,

The baby deer, once frigid from the snow,

Now slumbers on the bathroom rug.

And the masked stealer of cookies or other treats,

A cuteness hiding teeth and claws,

Enters through you, as if bidden.

You, open gap where ears emerge,

And where eyes glance furtively around,

Before a fluffy body pops inside,

Or where is seen a glimpse of only a tail,

And a pair of back legs as they depart.

You’re a passageway from home and hearth,

To foreign parts, then back again.