The Pet

I think I got away.
She isn't following.
Up, the overgrown path
through the weeds, I feel
a thrill of risk because of the ticks.
But there is the sun and the meadow.

Then I hear her call.
She has her own brand of
meow. She calls me back
like when I call her in the morning,
"Franz-waz! Franz-was!"
I'm surprised that she followed me so
far down the road into the unknown.

Down the path I go calling,
"Franz-waz! Franz-was!" and listening
to her answer. As I reach
the bottom of the hill
where the road meets the woods,
I see her pacing, looking for ways in.
Come to me, come you bad cat.
So far so far. I almost lose her.