Fluff of warm body
Soft ghost, humming
Like a well-worn motor
The kind that leaps to a desk
And sits
All day sleeping on a pile of papers that you need.
If aroused
Then glances, disinterestedly,
At the interrupter
Saunter-er
Tail dashing left and right
That whisks in the way always
Sleeping
On the belly or the side or the back
Sometimes drooling
Disgruntled when awakened
Or sometimes playful
Seize your hand and play-fight
Until the dignity is taken up again
There's a reason for the creation of cats.
CITEȘTI
Songs of the Soul
PuisiSimilar to one of my previous stories because it is about life, but different because this is poetry. Sort of.
