Sit very still.

I will come, if I’m willing.
And I am.

Words build up
like hairs in my mouth. Lines that wind, and stick
I try to speak,
but they will knot
and compliments come out as hacks and coughs,
not the purrs I had imagined.

I am not graceful, I do not always land on my feet.

I try to leave you presents,
things I find, things you might enjoy.
but I’m met with confused faces, tinged with distaste,
when my attempts fall dead and blood stained.

Do not touch me.

I am embarrassed by my lack of opposable thumbs, my hairy coat.
I have teeth and claws;
and I will use them in abundance.

I am cute, but not substantial, nothing heavy enough to lean on,
just heavy enough to weigh you down.

I run;
behind the couch, under the bed,
watching safely in a dark closet.
please,
Do not touch me.