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The late August afternoon rays
streak my red, out of place, computer chair,
Kahlua was there basking.
I invaded her space, she awoke,
moved to the futon, went away,
deciding when to go, where to stay.
I am aging, she seems not,
tortoise shell cat, varied spots,
quizzical look, owl face, graceful demeanor;
Paying no mortgage or rent,
started with nothing,
Owns the world, the firmament, the sky,
stealthily padded feet passing me by.
Room to room, never grovelling,
not knowing sin, toying with insects
her greatest thrill,
loves kicking then chewing vitamin pills.
Rub her the wrong way,
she'll bite your hand,
sometimes simple affection
not caring to understand.
She's honestly truthful, looks in my eyes,
"You're in my space man,"
haughtily resentful, not bidding goodbye.
31st August 2001
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York, USABack to The Poems of Roy Schoenberg