A Rousing Game of Cat and Cat


The dim light makes sapphires from his steady gaze

Directed elsewhere, naturally, when called to account.

He’s involved, distracted, busy considering other prey–

Leans casually against some incidental surface

As if it were a planned maneuver–all grace

And taught muscle,

The lazy amusement of the idle prince.

But his whiskers tremble

His ears make independent surveys

Of any stray mention of his name or his desire.

His tail, flicking, belies his indolence.


I feel his gaze against the back of my head,

The curved softnesses of my female form,

The undemure prowess of my stretching limbs.

And I revel in it.  Sashay, saunter, preen.

It is as choreographed a dance as his feigned indolence.

The bathing of shoulder, foot pads, a languorous tonguing of each extended claw.

I precisely take my drink, a glimpse of delicate pink tongue–no more–and fastidious sips.

I perform stretches that would shame a Yogi with seeming nonchalance

Before making my unconcerned way towards the egress.

No one worth seeing here tonight, after all.  Pity, that.

I’ll go elsewhere in search of fun, a playmate, for the night.


(If he heads me off at the door, he’s mine.  He knows it, but he’ll play his part all the same.)


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