Meow?

Watchful eyes. The twitch of a tail, but otherwise as still as stone. He blinks, a slow, decisive movement. I call to him. He doesn't move. I turn to leave and abruptly he's on his back, paws outstretched. I stroke the soft fur along his chest. His eyes close in approval. Suddenly he's on his feet and moving away from me. He regards the world with cool disdain as he steps back into his favorite spot. I turn to leave and am halted by a questioning, "Meow?" When I look, his eyes are alert and engaged. His head tilts. Want to play? I laugh and join him on the floor. He pounces. We play. But with fluid grace he turns; the game is over on his terms, for he is a cat. Again he retreats to his favorite spot. His gaze is unfathomable and unfeeling. I look into those eyes and see no remembrance that we ever played. Without a sound he leaps to the window sill. Without a backward glance, he's gone.