Symbiosis

My touch –

I am sure she feels this –

is worshipful,

telling this deaf cat –

as my voice would 

if she could hear it –

she is cherished, admired, adored

beyond reason – although 

there are reasons.

The reasons are many and good,

as I hope my touch conveys.

There is the sheen of her fur

catching the sunlight, and

its silken feel under my hand.

The curve of her tiny head,

or loving paw.

The sound of her purr.

The trustful nudge of her brow.

I could go on and on

but she has woken

and called me to play,

rattling down the passage

on loud little feet,

confident I’ll follow.

(I know my role in this game;

she has trained me well.)

I must lumber after.

I must rub her tummy

as she stretches and writhes 

on the sunroom carpet.

I must dangle pink threads

(which used to be shoelaces

from a pair of striped sneakers)

for her to chase and catch and let go

and leap again after. Then I must carry her 

to sleep on the soft rug on my bed.

She is my most important

responsibility. I live

to look after her, to make sure

she is well, safe and happy.

She is the centre

of my small, elderly world,

my world shrunk to essentials.

At this time of my life, I know 

the essentials are love and touch. 

Another cat poem! Which again I'm sharing with Poets and Storytellers United – in this case for Friday Writings #19, where Magaly advises us: 'It's important to have a twinkle in your wrinkle' and invites us to be inspired by this thought. She does mean the sort of wrinkles that come with ageing – which I certainly have! And my cat, Poppi, always puts a twinkle in my eyes.