Soft morning light falls
through dusty cream blinds
upon black cat sleeping
on cushioned window perch.
Twenty minutes into
her nap, she stirs,
raises her head, stares at me.
If she is to be believed,
I am responsible, somehow,
for waking her. That’s how
I read the glare — green coals
glowing deep within
her silhouette. It must have been the tapping
of my hands on the keys, or
how I observed her instead of pretending
not to notice her. Did my eyes somehow
stir her fur from across the room, disrupting
sleep and purr?
She’s up now, headed for the kitchen.
Whatever woke her, her ever-empty gut
kept her up — and based on the cry
from the other room, her staying up
is going to be my fault if I don’t move
right now. I’m apparently just a means to her end.
Maybe she woke first and simply wanted food
until I stared back.
Dark Matter 
October 24th, 2012 at 7:32 am
Nice one… If you want to say that is not good… Please don’t reply 🙂
October 24th, 2012 at 8:18 am
Um…just because I make a self-deprecating comment about a poem of mine doesn’t mean I don’t like it. Seriously — there’s nothing wrong with saying that one poem is better or not as good as another.
October 24th, 2012 at 8:37 am
I know… I’m just kidding… sometimes it struck me when I see great poem, and then author say it’s not particularly good one… 😀
October 24th, 2012 at 5:23 am
I always enjoy a good poem about a cat. Merci beaucoup!
October 24th, 2012 at 8:17 am
Thanks!