Little Baker

he wakes up

before the sun has risen

to patrol the shadowed halls, footsteps silent -

and slips through the crack in the door

like a little baker, ready for an early breakfast

he kneads the blankets with

great precision and dedication

with tiny paws, and claws like slender needles

piercing through my sleep (and the skin on my knees)

a plaintive meow: the cat is hungry.

1, 2