that damned cat is asleep
again
quiet and soft and oblivious
to death and the way of the world
she just lays curled into herself
a warm ball of ambivalence
waiting for her mum to come home
waiting forthings to begin – properly
she is brown and gold and black and white
far away dreaming of mice, once caught
and that poor little squirrel,
that damned idiot rodent
that never made it more than a month
before meeting this sleeping predator
lost inside of herself
quietly plotting unique new ways
to stomp into the bedroom at 3 am
mewling the whole fucking time

that damned cat
she’s lucky that i love her
she’s lucky that love tolerates much
and i bet she thinks the same of me