A Small Poem Written Late Last Night


Cat (Photo credit: sylvia@intrigue)


What do they think of us?
These small beasts who look at us
Out of such containment,
Who love us so inexplicably?

When we pick them up,
Do they think it is alike unto
Their play with a mouse?

Are we their sisters and brothers
That they curl up
In the bend of our knees and purr?

Do they feel our hands stroking
As they do the grooming of their mothers?

Do they groom us
Because to them we are their kittens?

They are small so they sleep lightly,
Lest danger threaten.
But they trust us and let sleep overtake them.

That trust is enchanting.
Reassuring. We are indeed gods.
Their contained love is all in all.

We are not gods, we are monsters.
They should not love us.

But they do.