Enwei Chau

They said love is supposed to be loud.
They said loyalty gotta bark.
They said “if it don’t jump on you,
it don’t care.”

I don’t believe them.

That’s not love.
That’s loyalty on sale.
Clearance rack devotion.
Noise pretending to be meaning.

A dog says, “You’re God.”
A cat says, “Prove it.”

Cats move like they invented independence.
They don’t come when you call—
they come when the universe aligns
and your vibes stop being embarrassing.

Everybody wants unconditional love.
Nobody wants unconditional judgment.

I want the love that challenges me.
The love that ignores me.
The love that walks away mid-sentence
and comes back like nothing happened.

I earned every purr.
Every blink.
Every moment.

Dogs love hard.
Cats love honest.

The world wants dogs.
Obedient. Predictable.
Happy with scraps.

They want love that’s loud.
Love that barks.
Love that never leaves.

I want cat love.
Rare. Conditional.
Free enough to leave.

Because anything that stays
no matter how you act
isn’t loyalty.

It’s captivity.

I want the kind that could leave—
and doesn’t.
Because that is love