A cat is mischief incarnate
from claws to whiskered nose.
He spreads his form indiscriminately
whenever and wherever he goes.

19% in his tail;
the sweeping fluff of doom.
23% in the wailing cries
that wake you in nighttime gloom.

8% in the claws and teeth
which teach the unwise to take care.
31% in the legs; carrying him
from disasters- he caused- everywhere.

19% in the eyes that direct
these ongoing rebuffs of fate:
surveying all that smacks of horror
in the humans who are always too late.

The question rings as a rattle on my cage.
"I am writing poetry" I answered.

He mumbled, "I thought you were playing Mahjong."

I exhaled hard, "I was. I won two games. " I said  with a little aggravation.

"Hum..." he said, then all fell silent.
I did not respond.

Only the sound of my fingers typing on the keyboard continued
Until he could not stand it anymore, "There's news today. The USA is pulling out of Syria."

"Hum, that's good." I said.

He said, "I am sure the families of the soldiers that are coming home are happy."

"Yeah, they probably are." I said halfheartedly as I continued to write.

"Israel is still worried about their borders."

Sarcastically I replied, "Maybe they will build  a wall."
The sounds of tap-tap-tap on the keyboard, continuing...

He said, "Yeah, maybe Trump will help them."
I stopped typing.
We laughed and I continued to write.

It was quiet for just a moment.
Then he said, "What'cha doing now?
We both laughed out loud!!!
And I finished this writing.

Honestly,
Slashing my wrists
Would be more fun than this.

The ******* in making,
Enjoy the pleasures of faking.
My thoughts still fleeting,
Sheared off yet bleating.
The rake inside me awakened,
Morals yet again threatened.
The devil's awake agile and ready,
Conscience breached and unsteady.
My head remains heavy and pensive,
A ******* yet again shall live.
Ransacked of all what I had,
Forlorn with thoughts, sad.
Leaves me hollow inside and out,
Void inside wishes to scream and shout.