So quietly she trips across the floor,
dragging random flotsam and jetsam
she finds in niches the vacuum can't reach.
With evil intent, she crouches at my feet.
Then BONK! I've been kitten-bombed.
She exults in my reaction
of flying drink and floor-bound french fries.
Then she creeps away again
waiting for her next opportunity
to turn on airplane mode,
shut down the computer without saving
and scare me half to death.
Copyright © Mary Rotman | Year Posted 2015
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