Charles Simic

I shared the solitude of my childhood with a black cat. I sat by the window for hours on end watching the empty street, while she sat on the bed washing herself. When night fell, I stretched on the bed, and she watched the street.

On rainy days I played chess with the cat, which pretended to doze. Once when my mother turned on the table lamp, the silhouettes of the few remaining chess figures could be seen clearly on the wall grown very large. I was afraid to move. I didn't even dare to take a breath.

When I finally did, the cat had vanished, taking the chess set with it and leaving me as I was in the same mean little room with its one window and its view of the empty street.

-Charles Simic, A Fly in the Soup