Observation

I am usually the one who sees what humans cannot,
but today they are staring at something hidden from me.
The girls, in their stiff, near caps and aprons, still unblemished,
look wary; I proceed with my toilette in the sunshine
that brings out the tabby pattern of my golden fur.
The smaller girl stills her porridge spoon;
her sister places a protective arm around her.

What can they see that so commands their attention?

I cannot smell any intruder – dog, mouse, or beetle –
although I am aware of a new chink between the tiles
which I must investigate when I am ready to do so.
Meanwhile, I will glance at the spot where their gaze is fixed,
although I will not display any other sign of interest.
If it is a spider that they have spotted, I may deign
to approach and bat it gently with a paw
so that it skitters away and the girls give puppy-yelps.

Or I may not bother.