Welcome in.
Cats have their own way of moving through an evening.
They can spend an astonishing amount of time watching a bird through a window.
Inspecting a familiar corner of the yard.
Or following the flight of one small moth as though nothing else could possibly require their attention.
Tonight,
We're going to borrow that slower pace for a while.
Our guide is Cleo.
A gray cat with a comfortable home.
A screened porch.
And an evening ahead of her.
So get comfortable,
Let your eyes close whenever they're ready.
And join Clio for evening watch.
Late afternoon had found its way onto the bed.
It came through the western window in a wide rectangle.
Warming the quilt and everything resting on it,
Including a gray cat named Cleo.
Who had arranged herself directly in the center.
She had been there for most of the afternoon.
Earlier,
The sunlight had covered her completely.
Then it had begun its slow journey across the bed.
Leaving her back paws in shadow.
Cleo responded by stretching one leg toward the remaining warmth.
For a while.
This solved the problem.
Eventually the sun moved again.
Cleo opened her eyes and stayed exactly where she was.
The room had changed during her nap.
The bright afternoon light had softened,
And the shadows beneath the dresser had grown longer.
Somewhere downstairs,
A cupboard opened and closed.
Cleo's ears turned toward the sound.
Another cupboard opened.
She lifted her head.
Silence.
Her head returned to the quilt.
A car passed outside.
A bird called from the tree near the window.
From downstairs came the faint sound of running water.
Cleo rolled onto her side and stretched.
Her front legs reached toward the head of the bed.
Toes spreading wide.
Her back leg stretched in the opposite direction.
Her spine lengthened until she occupied an impressive amount of space for an animal of her size.
She held the stretch for several seconds,
Then relaxed.
There was no hurry.
The evening would arrive whether she supervised it or not.
Cleo sat up and began washing one front paw.
She drew it carefully across her face.
Then washed it again and repeated the process.
Around one ear.
Across her cheek.
Over the top of her head.
The other paw followed.
When she was satisfied,
She stood and stepped across the quilt.
At the edge of the mattress,
She paused.
The floor was farther away than necessary.
Cleo considered this.
She had made the trip thousands of times.
Still,
A cat liked to assess these things.
She lowered her front half.
Gathered herself.
And jump.
Her paws met the rug without a sound.
She walked toward the bedroom door.
The hallway beyond was empty,
So Cleo stopped there and listened.
Someone was moving around downstairs.
She knew who.
She knew every person who belonged in this house by the way they moved through it.
She could identify footsteps on the stairs,
The weight of a hand against a doorknob.
The way a chair scraped across the kitchen floor.
Tonight,
The familiar person was in the kitchen.
Cleo descended the stairs slowly.
Pausing halfway to look through the narrow window above the landing.
The sky was pale blue with a wash of gold near the rooftops.
A few clouds floated above the trees.
She continued downstairs.
The kitchen smelled interesting.
She entered without announcing herself and found her person standing at the counter slicing vegetables.
Cleo sat near the doorway.
Nothing happened.
She moved closer.
Still nothing.
She walked directly behind the person's feet.
Hi,
Clio.
Cleo looked up.
You are awake!
This was obvious.
She walked toward her bowl.
The person glanced at the clock.
It's early.
Your dinner is in 20 minutes.
Cleo sat beside the bowl.
Twenty minutes meant nothing to her.
There was now.
There was later.
.
.
Food belonged in both.
She remained seated while the person continued preparing dinner.
After a while,
She lay down beside the bowl.
This seemed to improve negotiations.
You're very dramatic.
Click the old link.
A refrigerator door opened.
She stood.
Something was taken out.
And her ears came forward at the familiar sound of a lid being removed.
At last,
The evening had developed properly.
A spoon touched the side of her dish.
Okay,
Here you go.
The bowl was placed on the floor and Cleo began to eat.
Outside the kitchen window,
The last strong sunlight had reached the top of the trees.
The leaves shifted in a breeze Cleo could see without feeling.
She finished her dinner.
Washed one paw,
And walked away.
Her person had already returned to the counter.
Cleo passed through the dining room and into the living room.
Where the windows were larger and the evening offered more to look at.
She jumped onto the back of the sofa.
From there she could see the yard.
A sparrow landed near the garden bed.
Cleo lowered herself.
Her eyes widened.
The sparrow hopped once,
Then twice.
Cleo's tail moved.
The bird pecked at something in the grass,
And Cleo became very still.
Her entire attention narrowed to one small bird.
The sparrow turned its head.
Cleo's whiskers angled forward.
The bird hopped toward the hedge.
Cleo followed its progress with her eyes.
Then without warning,
It flew away.
Her head snapped upward.
But the sparrow disappeared into the branches.
Cleo stayed where she was for several seconds.
She knew the bird was still out there.
Birds had a habit of becoming invisible while remaining nearby.
A leaf moves.
Cleo watched.
Another leaf moved.
Nothing appeared.
Soon after that,
She sat upright.
The room behind her had grown dimmer.
Her person entered and turned on a lamp.
Shedding warm light across one corner of the room.
Cleo turned toward it.
Then came a sound she knew very well.
The back door opened.
Cleo jumped down from the sofa.
The screened porch waded beyond the kitchen.
Her person stood beside the open door.
Coming out?
Cleo walked through.
The air was cooler outside,
And she stopped immediately.
Every evening had its own smell.
Tonight carried dry grass,
Warm wood,
The tomato plants growing beside the porch.
And something sweet from a flowering shrub near the fence.
Cleo lifted her nose.
The breeze moved over her whiskers.
Behind her,
The door closed.
She walked toward the far end of the porch.
The wooden boards still held some of the day's warmth.
Cleo lowered herself onto them and stretched one front paw forward.
From here,
She could see almost the entire yard.
The garden rested along one side.
Beyond it stood a row of shrubs,
Then the fence.
An old maple grew near the back corner,
Its branches reaching over the grass.
The evening was busy.
A pair of birds argued briefly in the maple.
Somewhere beyond the fence,
A dog barks.
Cleo's ear turned toward it.
The dog barked again,
Then stopped.
She continued watching the yard.
A bee moved lazily among the flowers.
A small flying insect passed through the porch screen.
Cleo's eyes followed it until it landed on the outside of the mesh.
She walked closer.
The insect crawled upward.
Cleo lifted one paw.
The screen stood between them.
She touched it anyway.
The insect flew off.
Cleo sat down.
There were certain flaws in the design of the porch.
She accepted them.
The sky gradually lost its gold.
Blue deepened above the trees.
And the shadows beneath the shrubs began joining together.
Her person sat in the porch chair with a glass of water and a book.
Cleo wandered over and rubbed one side of her body against an ankle.
A hand reached down.
And Cleo moved beneath it.
The hand followed the length of her back.
She turned and walked past again,
Receiving another stroke before continuing toward the steps.
The screened door at the top remained securely closed.
Cleo knew this because she checked it out most evenings.
She looked through the mesh and saw a chipmunk near the garden.
Clear froze.
The chipmunk sat upright with something between its paws.
She crouched,
Belly lowering close to the boards,
Shoulders moving slowly,
One paw forward.
Pause.
Another paw.
Pause.
The chipmunk continued eating.
Cleo reached the screen,
Which was as far as she could go.
The chipmunk looked toward the porch.
Cleo stared.
The chipmunk stared back.
For a few seconds,
Neither moved.
Then the chipmunk ran and vanished beneath the shrubs.
Cleo stood and looked toward the place where it had disappeared.
Her tail flicked once.
That the yard had clearly become worth monitoring.
She chose a spot near the screen and settled there.
The light faded a little more.
Her person turned a page.
The sound was soft and dry.
Cleo tucked her front paws beneath her chest.
The porch boards cooled beneath her.
A breeze moved through the maple,
Sending a low rustle through the leaves.
The first cricket began to sing somewhere near the fence.
Another answered from farther away.
A moment later,
There were many.
Cleo listened.
The daytime birds had grown quiet.
The evening creatures were taking over.
She knew many of their sounds.
Some belonged close to the ground.
Some came from trees.
Some moved through the air too quickly for her eyes to follow.
The porch light came on.
Cleo looked up at the bulb glowing above the door.
For a few minutes,
Nothing changed.
Then the first moth arrived.
It fluttered into the light,
Disappeared above the fixture,
And returned.
Cleo's head tilted.
The moth circled again.
Her eyes followed.
Around the light.
Above it.
Up again.
Cleo stood.
The moth flew toward the screen,
And she followed.
It changed direction.
So did she.
It rose above her head.
Cleo sat and looked up.
The moth returned to the light.
She waited.
It came lower,
And her front paws lifted slightly from the floor.
The moth changed direction again.
Clear,
Settled back down.
Her person lowered the book.
I wondered how long that would take.
Cleo ignored this.
The moth was far more relevant.
It circled the light again.
Cleo watched.
Around.
Away.
Around again.
Its pale wings caught the porch light each time it passed beneath the bulb.
Cleo's head followed the same small path.
After a while,
She stopped moving her head and let her eyes do the work.
Then the moth flew into the darkness beyond the porch.
Cleo waited for it to return.
The crickets continued their steady evening chorus.
Leaves stirred.
The book page turned.
Cleo watched the empty space near the light.
The moth came back.
Her eyes opened wider.
Another slow circle.
Then another.
It disappeared behind the fixture.
Cleo waited,
And the moth emerged.
This continued for a while.
Then,
Clear lay down.
She could watch from there.
Her chin rested on the boards.
The moth circled.
Her eyes followed.
It disappeared.
Her eyelids lowered.
The moth returned.
Her eyes opened.
Another circle.
Another disappearance.
Cleo's eyes closed again.
This time they remained closed a little longer.
The evening continued around her.
Crickets called from the grass.
A breeze moved across the yard.
The porch light hummed faintly.
Her person shifted in the chair.
Cleo's ears registered each sound while her body stayed loose against the boards.
The moth returned once more.
Cleo opened one eye.
The moth passed beneath the light.
She closed her eye.
The moth could manage itself for a while.
Minutes pass.
Maybe longer.
Time worked differently when a cat was half asleep.
Finally,
The chair moved.
Cleo opened her eyes.
Her person stood and picked up the glass.
Ready to go in?
Cleo remained on the floor.
The door opened and warm indoor air drifted onto the porch.
She considered her options.
The porch still held crickets,
Moths,
Night air,
And the possibility of the chipmunk returning for reasons known only to itself.
Inside held soft furniture.
Cleo stood.
She stretched,
Front legs extended and back rising high.
Then walked through the door.
Her person followed and closed the door behind them.
The house felt different at night.
The kitchen lights were low.
The counters had been cleared.
Dinner smells lingered faintly in the air.
Cleo crossed the room and drank from her water bowl.
She took several small laps.
Paused and drank again.
Then she walked into the living room.
The lamp beside the couch was still on.
Her person sat down and picked up the book again.
Cleo jumped onto the other end of the sofa,
Where a folded blanket waited.
She stepped onto it.
One paw pressed down,
Then the other.
The blanket gathered under her paws.
Clio Purge.
The sound began quietly in her chest.
Her person looked over while Cleo continued kneading with her paws.
Left paw.
Right paw.
Left paw.
Right paw.
Her purr grew deeper.
She turned once.
The blanket required another adjustment.
She turned again,
Then sat.
One back leg lifted.
There was grooming to complete.
Cleo washed her side,
Her chest.
One shoulder and the inside of a front leg.
She paused to inspect the result.
Then washed her paw and drew it over her face.
The book page turned.
The house had become very quiet.
The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen.
A clock ticked somewhere down the hall.
Outside,
A car passed and faded into the distance.
Cleo finished washing and lowered herself onto the blanket.
Her paws disappeared beneath her.
Her tail curled around one side.
The purr continued,
Slow and steady.
Her person reached across the sofa and touched her head.
One finger moved between her ears.
Cleo leaned forward.
The finger moved along her cheeks.
She closed her eyes.
A few minutes later,
The hand went away.
Cleo opened her eyes.
Her person had returned to the book.
Acceptable.
She settled in again,
And the purring slowed.
Later the book closed and the lamp switched off.
Cleo opened her eyes in the darkness.
Her person walked toward the stairs.
Cleo remained on the sofa.
Footsteps climbed.
A bedroom door opened overhead.
Water ran through the pipes.
Cleo listened.
She could stay here.
She often did.
The blanket was warm beneath her.
The sofa had already shaped itself around her body.
She lowered her head.
Then she heard the bedroom door again.
Cleo raised her ears.
Silence followed.
She stood.
Apparently there was somewhere else she needed to be.
She jumped down from the sofa and crossed the dark living room.
Cats required little light to find their way through familiar places.
She passed the kitchen.
Her bowl sat empty.
She checked.
Still empty.
She continued toward the stairs.
The house held the smells of the whole day now.
Dinner.
Coffee from the morning,
The faint outdoor scent carried in on shoes.
Her own fur.
The familiar people who lived here.
Cleo climbed the stairs.
At the top,
She stopped beside the window.
The yard looked different from here.
The maple was a dark shape against the sky.
A few stars showed between the branches.
The porch light had been turned off.
The moths had gone elsewhere.
Cleo watched for a moment.
The yard could manage till morning.
She walked into the bedroom.
Her person was already beneath the covers.
And a small lamp glowed on the nightstand.
Cleo jumped onto the bed.
Hi.
She walked across the blankets.
Were you downstairs this whole time?
Cleo continued toward the foot of the bed.
She turned around once.
Then twice.
The blanket was soft.
Though something about the arrangement felt wrong.
She walked toward the pillows.
Really?
Cleo stepped across a leg beneath the covers and found a place near the person's hip.
She began kneading again with her paws.
The blanket rose and fell beneath them.
CLEO left,
Right.
Those are your claws.
Cleo adjusted.
The blanket slowly became suitable.
She turned once more and lowered herself.
The lamp clicked off.
Darkness returned.
Cleo's eyes stayed open.
She could hear the crickets outside,
Their sound reaching the bedroom faintly through the window.
A car moved along a distant road.
The house creaked once.
Beside her,
The mattress shifted.
Cleo remained where she was.
Her eyes grew heavier.
She began to purr.
The sound was low enough to feel through the blanket.
A hand found her in the darkness and rested lightly against her back.
Cleo's eyes closed.
The evening had been full.
There had been dinner.
A sparrow.
The Porch a chipmunk.
A moth.
Warm boards beneath her belly.
Cool air against her whiskers.
A blanket that required considerable preparation.
Now there was this.
A dark room.
A familiar bed.
The steady warmth beside her.
Her purr softened.
Her breathing slowed.
The crickets carried on outside.
The maple leaves moved gently in the night air.
The yard had settled.
The porch was empty.
The kitchen was quiet.
Everything Cleo had watched throughout the evening had found its place in the darkness.
Her paws relaxed.
Her tail rested along her side.
The hand on her back became still.
Cleo gave one little sleepy breath,
Then another.
The evening watch was over.
And Cleo slept.
The end.
Cleo's evening was made up of very small things.
A sparrow in the grass.
Cool air on the porch.
A chipmunk worth watching.
A moth circling a light.
A comfy blanket beneath her paws.
She gave each one her full attention while it was there,
Then moved along when something else caught her interest.
By the end of the evening,
Her world had gradually grown smaller.
The yard gave way to the porch.
The porch to the house.
And finally the whole night came down to a warm bed and a familiar hand resting against her back.
Maybe that's a good place to leave this day as well.
The larger world can carry on outside for a while.
Your own world can become smaller now.
Contained within this room.
This bed.
And the quiet hours ahead.
Cleo has finished her evening watch.
You can finish yours,
Too.
Good night.
