In a rattan fraying basket Kahlua sleeps,
does not dream of forest, jungles, streams,
travelling unknown, perilous, deep.
Regardless of unanticipated catastrophes,
calamities, world annihilation, atomic bombs,
she'll not notice, judge, blame, speculate;
her feline heart will nary skip a beat.
Not complain of old age, never step aside,
as the path of life in evenness keeps going,
curling up comfortably at our bedside.
Meow for tidbits, establishing her routines,
occasionally an inner change astounds her,
runs frantically from room to room.
I'd rather be a cat propelled mysteriously;
feline propensity for spontaneity,
then quiet... closing her eyes, aware...
when I touch her in gentle affection,
I'm certain that she cares.
19th July 2002
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York, USA