Purring on our knees
she keeps her claws retracted
as she kneads skin.

Allowed on the bed
she fights to keep eyes open:
bliss surpassing sleep.

Late at night she walks
up the bed to the pillow,
meows for a hand's touch.

Neighbours bring home fish.
She carries some with much pride
to our kitchen table.

She was old, metal pins
in both back legs when she came.
What made her like that?