how do we let you know

how do we let you know
 
the cat walked out the open front door. that was three days ago. then the phonecall letting you know. nothing more to do.
 
then four, then five. imagination calling out a name, a click of the tongue. not like a child lost, but barrels more than losing keys. now six. now seven. time gets pale.
 
then today, leaving for work, and how do we let you know? the cat waiting outside the black front door.
 
quick, set out some food in that bowl I’d set away unused. you come, you must be famished, you sniff, no thanks, you say.
 
 
neil reid © november 2013