the printer crashed
to the floor (a gasp of silence
shattering)
cat skittered
across the linoleum, early
hours bruised with moonlight's pallor;

coffee table turned (a revolution
unfolding) mugs and glasses
spilling their tired guts—
ashes, cigarette butts,
dead insects embalmed in dust.

and he (oh, the weight of he)
shouted—
not like him, not like the calm
fortress of patience
he fashions himself.

but the cat,
that anarchist
of whisker and claw,
defied his law and order,
mocked his trembling
manhood (a fragile empire
in the flick of a tail).

and so (with fire in his veins)
he decrees—obedience.
the cat must bend,
a creature
of chaos pressed into the mold
of his control.

but oh,
this linoleum,
this midnight rebellion—
it is not so easily erased.