The Homecoming

He follows me down the hall,
recognising signs of impending departure.
A change of footwear.
The noisy gathering up of keys, phone and glasses.
His big brown eyes following my every move.
He pads after me, backwards and forwards,
carefully treading that thinnest of lines
between being a nuisance and being cute.
As I bang the hall door after me
he moves to the window,
pressing his nose against the glass
making a foggy patch, over which sad eyes guilt me for going alone.
On the garden wall, a pair of feline eyes,
cast a disinterested glance my way,
before stretching out in the puddle of weak autumn sunshine.

On my return he is curled up in the hall.
He senses my approach and jumps to his feet,
a mass of welcomes and unbridled joy.
As I enter the hallway, his excitement knows no bounds.
And just as I make to close the door,
the cat scoots in,
casting me another wry glance,
tail up in a subtle acknowledgement of our bond.
A swift glare at the dog, he sweeps by
and makes for his favourite armchair.
Meanwhile dog is conducting a forensic examination of my trouser legs and shoes,
in an effort to establish where I have been and with who.
When he has gathered all possible evidence, he finally relaxes.

And we all resume our indoor routines, together.