A cat has moved in next door.

Tuxedo.

White whiskers and a spot at the window.

Lace curtains always closed now stay pinned aside,

for his sleeping and watching perch depends

upon the ever-changing sight of visiting creatures

for peanuts.

To the railings and porch boards come jay and squirrel

and crow, large as the cat zeroed in

with green eyes shining in face of black fur.

And lucky for me, this virus-induced foster

and I visit with eyes watching

through two panes of glass.

Provided, of course, no wildlife prevails.

In the new quiet of town,

sound of the bells reaches the house every quarter hour.

The big trees, strange as it seems, have yet to leaf out

like a reminder of the sickness slowing life down

even though spring

is in full swing.