Gracefully drooping plant.
(Carefully nurtured for at least four years.)
Now asymmetrical; “Shave and a hair-cut, didn’t cost two bits.”
Stately house tree,
bowed down, with a tawny ornamental fuzz ball, suspended
by ten steel claws.
“There’s a cat in our house!”

Milk mustached, innocent face.
(What!—Who me?)
Suspicious noises in the kitchen;
rattle, rustle in the trash can.
Wild manic ricochet off the walls, behind the couch,
over the bed, with a quick bounce on the sleeping human trampoline.
Shattered knickknacks! Hall-dancing at midnight!
“There’s a cat in our house!”

Slimy hair balls, almost tastefully hidden.
Floating, drifting mounds of hair—that tenaciously adhere.
Odorous, fish breath, “Meow,” in your face.
(Don’t forget the litter box.)
Fanged, gentle teeth; love bites; steel trap claws.
Watchful glowing eyes; silently assesses all he sees,
from high perch—king of his domain.
“There’s a cat in our house!"

Aloof, mystical being
who allows himself to be gently caressed.
Perpetual purring machine,
a languid stretch—drowsy eyes.
Curled up in a lap.
(Safe Haven)
Gently asleep—pure contentment,
at peace.
“We are in a cat’s house!”