“It’s always more fun to eat out,”
I tell my neighbor whose kitty
wanders down to my porch

most mornings. “Hi, Hercules,”
I say, as he sits politely
but expectantly, waiting

for breakfast. Sometimes dinner.
It’s not that he doesn’t
get fed at home, his mom

has told me more than once.
But look at this perfect al fresco
dining spot—atop my car on

this early evening in late summer—
as the little prince rises from
the warm roof to stretch

in perfect cat pose, blinking
as I set the plastic dish
before him. He needs

no urging, diving into his
chicken paté with the gusto
of an eager patron

at one of his favorite
restaurants, looking up
at me after a few bites,

licking his lips before
returning to his dinner
in what I’m pretty sure

is a fine feline thank you.