A Cat is Like a Poem

They both spring into the air!
Flashing in front of my eyes-
With a dash of darkness…
above and about.
Quickness!
The Grip of the Claws, 
Holding on for Dear Life!
In my lap: Ouch!
On my mind: Ugh!
For a wrong decision might 
end
in a severe scratch from 
claws that bite. Or end
a poem with bad grammar
or worseer. . .
a dangling preposition like in, at, or of. . .
and
how is it, 
a cat in my lap
is like a poem in my head? 
They’ll wiggle, twist.  Defiantly stand, without a cause, 
look me in the eye, and smile, as if to say:
Whatever it is you want me to do,
I shall do the opposite.
Then just go away.

I watch her get up.
Walk about.
A flash of the tail as a rhyme comes to mind.
A line or two, to the tune of a purr, 
roaring into a rumble.
Some of these rhymes hit on time
while others just fumble.

Placing themselves with starts and shifts
and paws kneading into a spot or niche
trying to describe that feeling of warmth in my heart.
Or an unconscious smile on my face
in as few words as possible.

She uncomfortably forces a comfortable position 
by putting her face in my hand.
Reaching out with fingers that explore 
some kind of meter, and, or rhyme. 
While, at the same time
coming up with some sort of meaning.

A hand rubs this spot 
or scratches that one.
Over her whiskers.
Along the back of her neck.
She’ll turn and cast a smile with 
her eyes slowly blinking.
Her face peacefully squinting.
It becomes something I’d like to read out loud.
An audience, adoringly listening.
The purring and imaginary clapping 
encourage me to continue.

A move to another place.
Which obviously needs more her now.
Settle down the sounds.
Up again, she is in my lap
on my mind.
Her eyes looking at me
occasionally. . . 

Until

Uh-oh, 
here comes another poem.
Or is that another cat?

I stroke the one in my lap 
all the way down the page.
Collecting the loose hairs in my hands.
Discarding them to the floor
like past memories
written on paper only to be scribbled out 
replaced with another 
then crumpled into a ball 
merely to be discarded.
There is always more of the same
upon this mangy beast
now calm and happy.
For the moment.
Her claws gently creep 
Extend and knead.
Digging momentarily
until they retract
and disappear into her paw.
Only to repeat
with a purr and a blink.

I am distracted from the ending
Or even coming up with a meaning
for something that sounds so smooth
Out loud.
A stretch, a twist, the tail, a snap!
She’s up
To change her place, 
And stare
Or swipe at the other
Till they are gone.
She spins around.
Her paws strategically placing 
their steps in perfect places.
As I search for the right iambic phrases.
Fitting an off rhyme that slays an audience! 
Into a frenzied wonder their minds will go!
As a certain tickle gets this cat to relax.  

We are now 
Face to face
her legs hanging off my lap, 
past my thigh.
The words are on the page
Some are in my head.
As I read aloud
I twist her ear around  
Her head bends toward her shoulder
She stretches and shudders
My voice changes tenses
My fingers upon her wet nose
A voice of despair turns deep
Finger tips touching her ears
So cold!
They warm beneath my grasp.
My voice rising! A drop of spittle from a shout!
The hum of happiness her body sings in
a purr like fashion that
tickles my thigh,
until
she is up
and gone.
And I am glad I wrote this one down
Before another one comes along.