I say no to this cat
but she proves I’m not serious,
pushing her way nose first
into my lap,
waving her tail in my face
We compromise —
she gets to stay here
if she sits still,
if she lets me write
As for the mind of cats —
she must think it very strange,
all the little things I find
to busy myself — pointless things,
when I could be affording her a lap,
reveling in mammal warmth,
feeling the sunshine
There is a place
for butterscotch fur
and a tail that waves just so,
and a secret hunting side
to keep sheathed,
except for a touch of needle claws
against my thighs.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 12, 2019
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