Because I’ve got nothing else to say, and because I wanted to further establish my rights as an official cat lady.

 

When you press your palms against the abandoned fabric

Of remaining heat

That will as soon disappear

Into your absorbing hands

As it will into the air

Flowing with fluffs, kitten

Leaving their traces

Not only with invisible footprints

But of tangible hair

Fondly growing between pads

Scenting of rice, though they had never known

 

And when they leave you in the middle of the night

While you drift in half consciousness

In and out, unknowing, until

An empty presence appears in the crook

Of space between the blankets and your arm

A childish feeling of neglect

The cat hunts at night