 |  |  |
|
Besides me on the couch he hops, Done with the food dish perhaps? He settles down warm back to thigh. His fur he starts to groom with laps Of long red tongue and chin tucked in. The head bobs with each stroke Against the chest-I feel the jerks. His side, among the hairs he pokes A scarred nose-with teeth he bites At knots and things caught in the fur. A pause. A rear leg poised. Then Scratches furiously behind an ear With thrumming beat that vibrates Against thigh and through the couch As he laves and with a flea debates. A rear leg extended out he licks. The shaking couch transmits each stroke. He visits now his sacred spots And the heaven-pointing leg evokes Some furry flag. The proximal tail Receives a share, a few perfunctory licks. Rear hip and leg and foot addressed, A front paw he licks with clean cat spit And draws it over ear and down The head (this weather sign of rain I note). At last he’s done? He seems to sleep. I can now again read my book -I hope.
Copyright © 2002 Sandra Landfried |
| | |