I miss her soft and furry form,
a purring pillow near my cheek
keeping company and keeping warm,
listening politely to words I speak.
Running suddenly in middle night,
rugs in jumbled heap at daybreak.
Singing jungle songs at sudden sight
of hapless pigeons whose mistake
landed them by window’s light.
She knew all my inner secrets,
(the ones that kept me quite awake),
figured the way to prevent alarm
was wild air leaps of pure delight.
From the top of our bedroom armoire,
she could fly straight out,
curve gently round, down, making a liar
of those whose calculations flout
creativity or focus on formulaic
solutions. She knew what she was about:
feline mythology. Rejecting the algebraic,
she plunged forward into air without
apparent fears, as if loss of nerve was quaint,
eyes wide open. (Until she landed
on my pillow, I always felt quite faint.)
Then tender relief rose up, erased that early doubt,
her gifts greater than our relationship demanded.