02/08/2026
Mister Made of Flesh and Bone
I put my hand on Mister’s back
to feel the flesh and bone of him
and I was comforted.
By my pillow he curled to my hand
and my fingers found his toes
and the softest fur of his belly and chest.
We curved into each other,
cat and man,
and were comforted,
flesh and bone and heart.
Don’t You Love It
Don’t you love it
when your cat walks up to you
meows and looks at you
with that innocence you love
as much as you relish the surprising
size of his word-hoard,
the soft skirls and rumbles
from his chest or that he can’t help
sometimes sounding harsh
though what he means is love
or a simple request like
“Open the blinds, Richard.
Let’s sit in the sun.”
When Mister Moves
When Mister moves
I always set aside the book
or close the laptop
to watch him groom, or stretch,
which I especially love,
but once, blesséd moment,
he sneezed in his sleep
and it was so sweet
I couldn’t possibly put it in a poem,
but it touched me
and I laughed.
Pen to Paper
Again
man and cat
outside in the sun.
Ten million years
or an instant,
all breezes, all fugitive.
Pen to paper,
hoping to keep a moment.
