my cat Poppi who is as wise as night-time
and as sensible as the day;
who mothers me as I mother her;
my cat Poppi who is small and sleek,
not black though she looks black,
but sable, red-brown in the light;
who loves warmth and lies by the heater
or tucks herself under blankets;
whose little face is the sweetest;
who loves to cuddle, purring;
who, being profoundly deaf,
has mastered body language
and an expressive miaow;
who likes to rest on her pillow
on my bed, to be near me;
who is nocturnal and spends her nights
up on the window-sill, gazing out at the street
or in daytime peers through the big glass door
at nothing I can see, but she is fascinated;
who is Burmese and likes to be up high,
leaping with agility, despite her old age; Poppi who
is the perfect cat for me at this late time of my life.
