(for Carl S.)

Night comes
on soft cats‘ paws

Silently they sit
between garbage cans
and overlook their realm
wide open-eyed, glowing

They’re all too lazy
to hunt mice or rats
and just let them dance
in the dead of the night

There is a dirty tin plate
filled with a white liquid
on the steps of the kitchen
leading to this backyard idyll

It’s their deep night breakfast dinner
put on the trodden sandstone steps
by someone who knows about
the milk of human kindness.