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The garden cats aren’t mine
with my pss-pss-pss
and shuffle finger
I try to entice them
but mainly, warily
they ignore in the truest
feline tradition
to leave me and my allergies
wishing
a question:
what’s better than picking up
a fat or fluffy cat
and seeing that untamed belly fur
pointing up like the pyramids
standing to salute the sun?

the answer:
not too many things.

my cat doesn’t really like being held.
he doesn’t sit on laps, either.
he’s sort of independent like that.

a second question:
what’s better than a grey and white little bitsa
that comes running to meet you
when you’re returning home from your walk?

the answer:
nothing.
absolutely nothing.

— The End —