The Absence of Wavelength

My Cat, Not My Master

While the world was sleeping in July, I wrote this…

My Nightly House Manager
Turn Down Services Not Included

He helps me to bed.
Squelched squawks
(like a hen caught by the farmer)
demonstrate how to walk down the hall
after him.
         If not convincing,
rolls back to the top of the stairs,
waits for attention,
and strolls back
after more crowing.

Hauled to the vanity,
he makes certain my teeth get clean —
hops on the counter,
humming like a large mother hen.

A mini mountain lion
leans, shoulders into my elbow —
which lifts with hand and brush
to apply paste,
before errant guidance
resultantly hits my face.

In his element,
plump squatting contentedly
half-lidded eyes meditate.
By the free-standing, metal towel rack,
his whiskers rub every corner
of every angle
of every shape in sight,
as I hold arms high,
avoid baking soda stains on my tee.

Then it’s off to bed with him
and me.
He waits ‘til I roll in,
checks in on her side —
straight cannonballs up
with legs so short
he near belly flops.
A grunt expulses air
from that Macy balloon frame, tethered
by gravity.

Heavy paws navigate the comforter,
the woman who’s used to it —
undisturbed by his vacuum canister chest
humming best
as he saunters over,
smells my hand (not trusting vision foremost)
and flops
against my, as yet situated, torso.

Approved, checked off
the nightly to do list,
he’ll ‘rooster’ again at morn
before REM complete.
Why an alarm clock?

Should have been a farmer.

7.7.23/9.8.23