An Entirely Adequate Role

An entirely adequate role – the way
that this cat plays his soul: a model
for me who would seek to be equally free.
I come to him, mornings, each day
of the week – and we don’t so much
speak to each other as sneak in our stolen
and intricate secrets, conveyed in our
myriad preying intent curiosities – sudden
attentions, affections – warm rolling

around on the floor: as freshly as if
we had never once done it before – we
bodily barrel and swivel and sway –
our fur, skin and clothing mere trappings
that veil the display of a naked exposure
of heart: leading up to a pleasure
as startling and soothing as silk: as
I get to the part where I pour out the milk.
His eyes are electrically pure – his aria

low and assured and alluringly urgent
as I put the bowl in its place: then,
to turn him around so he’ll face me,
while lapping, when I walk away, just
before he gets near to the prize, I lift
him abruptly: and he hangs as limp as
a ragdoll, as calm and as present
and silent as slow, willing sighs: complete
abnegation of lust: an utter descent into

trust. He waits ‘til I’ve kissed him on top
of his head and have dropped him
in front of the dream we’ve allowed to
come true before falling again into thrall
with his cat-mind: as far from the catalyst
I had become for him as he ought surely
to be. Species return to their proper
allotments: he doesn’t look up as I walk out
the door: and that’s almost fine with me.

.