Creature of Habit

You're not a monster,
but an animal.
Your hair gets stroked,
and you escape,
from under the rusted hole
in the backyard,
unnoticed.
I've refilled your water bowl,
and watched you drink
for days.
Sometimes, when I'm down
I hear you scratch at the door
and allow you to lay your chin
in my lap.
When your eyes asked me
to trust you not to go
into the neighbor's flowers,
I clicked the collar
and shouted in vain
as your paws returned,
stained.
But I can't reprimand.
Can't force you
into your cage.
I know when you smell the
fibrous cut of the bone
your tongue salivates.
I know it's only in your nature
to stray.