you leash what you call "wild,"
but the wolf in the dog still paces,
not in chains,
but in the space between your commands,
where it measures your worth.

you name yourself "master,"
yet the cat sharpens its claws
on the throne of your couch,
unimpressed
by your crown.

what is a king to a creature
that licks its own wounds in private,
then flicks its tail in your face,
daring you to react?

humans build clocks,
but the dog knows,
your "schedule" is just fear
dressed as order.

you scream "sit!"
and the dog sits,
not for you,
but for the meat in your hand,
and the ghost of the pack
that once chose leaders
by the steadiness of their hands,
not the loudness of their voice.

the cat does not care
if you call it "pet."
it allowed you a name
the day you opened the can.

you mistake survival for surrender.
you mistake silence for agreement.
a cat’s indifference is not submission,
it is assessment.

here is the lesson
written in piss on your rug,
in the chewed leash,
in the midnight yowl,
you cannot control
what does not respect you.
and respect is not bought
with treats or threats,
it is earned in the rhythm
you’ve forgotten,
the pause before the growl.
the flick of the ear at a lie.
the way a creature looks at you
when it knows
you are lying to yourself.

you are not yet a dog.
you are still a slave
pretending to be free.
the animal watches.
it waits.
it knows.

when will you learn to listen?
or
when will you stop lying?
or let the silence hang,
like a cat’s unblinking stare.

this is civility,
a human blindness
facing animal truth,
and the rhythms we refuse to hear.