Wisława Szymborska
Cat in an Empty Apartment
Die — One does not do that to a cat.
Since what can a cat do
in an empty apartment.
Climb the walls.
Rub up against the furniture.
Nothing seems different here,
but nothing is the same.
Nothing has been moved,
but there's more space.
And at nighttime no lamps are lit.
Footsteps on the staircase,
but they're new ones.
The hand that puts fish on the saucer
has changed, too.
Something doesn't start here
at its usual time.
Something doesn't happen
as it should.
Someone was always, always here,
then suddenly disappeared
and now is stubbornly absent.
All the closets were peered into.
Every shelf has been explored.
Excavations under the carpet turned up nothing.
Even a rule was broken,
and papers were scattered.
What more is to be done.
Sleep and wait.
Let him return,
let him show his face.
Will he ever get a lesson
on what not to do to a cat.
Sidle toward him
as if unwilling,
slowly,
on visibly offended paws.
With no leaps or squeals at first.
