F u r.   Fur right in my face, 

and    p u r r i n g.

I tilt my head slightly to breathe.

My eyes squeeze shut again, 

    trying

to go back to sleep 

I am so     tired.

A paw touches my lips- 

      gentle 

except for the slight hint of claw.

    

    “Mroww,” she says.

    Pet me, she means.

 

I squirm out of my blankets 

and now my arm is     c o l d.

My movements 

are deliberate. and. careful.

I have to       make       sure 

not          to        startle     

I reach out 

                   scratch her ear.

Is that      e n o u g h? 

     Is she         satisfied?

    

    “Mrrrr,” she says.

    More pet, she means.

 

I stroke   a l l   the way down her back,

Her shedding hair        collects 

at the base of her                                        tail,

It’s just the smallest nub, a mere bump.

Truly she’s a proud manx, rare- regal.

I have to laugh at my queen feline.

My brother calls her a    cabbit

a       rabbit       looking             cat.

Will her   dignity    ever survive?

 

    “Prrrrr,” she says.

    I’m good, she means.

 

 

 

 

She spends 16 hours asleep apparently,

I wouldn’t know personally, 

I     can’t       exactly       r e l a t e.

I narrow my eyes      intensely.

She licks me,

 tongue rough,

and at least 

it’s not slobbery. 

She blinks at me 

s l o w l y, 

and I blink back.

 

    She breathes loudly at me.

    You should be happy, she means.

 

Abruptly, 

her purr stops

she looks around.

She stands up 

leaps off my bed.

She’s                                      across the room

                  out of sight,

but I know she’s siting in my doorway

as a guardian bread loaf. 

She is content.

 

    “Goodnight, Bandit.” I say.

    I am so tired I mean.