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A Real Boy

All Q ever wanted was a real boy, he sits in the window pane watching the little boys toss a ball or frisbee, running about here and there. If he glances back inside he sees me in front of the PC or TV lost in some fantasy world.

He’ll drag a string or cat nip toy to me and “MEOW” loudly. I’ll bring down a hand to pet him, but he’s learned to be far enough back that I have to tear my eyes from the screen to find him. He’ll “MEOW” again, the toy strategically placed in front of him, he even motions to it with his eyes. I’ll promise to play with him later, or tomorrow and focus my attention back to my fun.

He may try one more “MEOW” or jump on the desk, sprawling right in the perimeter of the keyboard or mouse pad. His tail whips about, deliberately aiming for the keyboard or mouse as he knows one keystroke with his tail grabs my attention faster than twelve “MEOWS”.

Mostly, he sits on the window ledge; eyes darting this way and that, dreaming of the little boy he always wanted.

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