thoughts on the eve of the prodigal cat returning home
Not just
a connection of bones,
tissue.
Not merely
a collection of odors
nor continuous cloud of
hair. But
a sensation
perceived by the extra
senses.
A presence that
un-knots all my tenseness
Pin-prickle kneading.
Rough kisses pleading.
Golden-eyed stare bending-beading
peering into my lost soul.
Somehow I know,
an understanding
without words.
So glad you've
found your way home.
It is a relief
to see just how you
speak:
Its in the bend of his tail.
Its in the turn of his head.
Its in the number of turns
you makes the bed.
And in the deep thrumming hum
of your chest.
You do
change the worst day
into my best....
but still my
bubble won't burst
when I realize his
loyalty is first to
the open door and his
freedom.
How could I not admire
that kind of self-
allegiance?
Copyright July 26th 2013
All Rights Reserved By Author
Rough Draft to page
Melissa A Howells Meloo Tilt-a-World
the little "cad" had the audacity
to run-off whilst I was in hospital
and I could do nothing about it.
I am sooooooooooooooo relieved he is home.
