He sits, wistfully looking out through the bars, looking out into the sunshine, to the joyful birds twittering and flitting through the garden. He sees the butterflies, the ants, the bugs. He twitches and stretches, willing himself out there, out there in the garden.
He moves to the open front door, barred again by security bars. He sits, watching the people passing by walking their dogs, out on the street. He stretches in the Autumn sun, streaming through the open door. He feels the rays warming his body as he lays now, drifting into sleep.
He runs, from window to window, he knows something is out there in his yard, if he can just find it maybe he can protect his house. He sits, looking wistfully out the window while the cat moves away.
He sits, perched up on the speaker box, his body leaning forward towards the open window, he lifts his head and shoots the breeze, catching every scent, the ones we can not smell. He stretches upward, into his meerkat pose, listening, smelling, wondering.
This is his life, shut in, always wondering what it would be like out there, out there in the wide world, the wild world, the garden.
He curls in her lap, loudly purring as she strokes his head, his ears and tickles him under the chin. He sleeps on her bed, curled closely to her body, glad he is loved, and he dreams - his legs running out there in the garden, chasing butterflies and birds for he is a hunter. A hunter kept inside to protect not only the others that share the garden, but himself too, for dogs lurk over fences that he has yet to scale.
His name is Max, and she loves him so much she keeps him shut in, sometimes she wonders if she is depriving him of too much by keeping him so protected here inside.