For the cats climb like rust on the ceiling,
paint curling and peeling and falling.
For claws will leave glyphs in the walls. For they're kind
to provide little lives mercy swift with a bite,
and their eyes rend the forms of dark things.

For the cats crawl like rivers up stairs.
For they're silent on guard, and they sing when
they kill. For they know each warm trophy
has slain its own rations. For cats know compassion.
For I cannot hunt, and they don't let me starve.