—written by Kathleen
I’m without grandchildren, you see,
so I brag about my “grandkitty”
Selina, the “princess,” she’s my girl.
Meticulously she cleans and preens
her parfait coat till it gleems
and just to tease, I blow between her ears
ruffle her fur backwards,
tickle her tummy
as she playfully bites my hand.
Oh, it’s grand!
Eagerly I scoop her warm squirming body
into my arms, stroke her silky fur.
Amber-green eyes melt into mine
searching my heart, hugging my mind.
She jumps down, pursues morning
“hi-jinks,” feet flying, rug scrunching,
a flurry of energy
until exhausted, she stretches out, belly up
and dreams cat fancies. . .
softly snoring, ignoring the world
curled paw stroking the air
tail tip thumping.
Picture perfect, I sneak shots
of the weary warrior
curled, belly up, her body a venerable question mark.
“Being cat” is a art she masters with finesse,
and this grandma proudly confesses
she loves her purr-fectly naughty feline
with devotion bordering on divine. . .
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