Sunday, 22 September 2013

The Cat's Breakfast

As she busily treads and treads
upon your pillow at first light,
she tells you that burlier mogs
invaded her space in the night;

so you slide into your new silk
dressing-gown and sleepily head
downstairs, where you offer her
choice tidbits of yesterday’s cod,

which she spurns with a tail-swish
as if such bites are beneath her,
and this year you’ve been waiting for
settles just like any other.

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