She Looks At Me With Wistful Eyes

She's sitting there, looking at me, while I pretend that I don't see that look of longing in her eyes, that look that comes as no surprise. It's a forlorn look that seems to say, Do you have time for a little play? I know you're busy with your write, but honestly, you're at it day and night." I feel guilty; we're off to the kitchen, so she'll stop her meowing and her b...hing. With my cup of coffee, and her tummy sated, We're ready to play as she anticipated. She bats at the paper balls I toss at her I throw them at her long-haired coat of fur. Sometimes she catches one in her paws, My Bella, you deserve a reward. Applause! A better roommate, I could never find, even when her meowing blows my mind. I rescued her, but she's adopted me. We're a mutual admiration society. She never complains when my hairs a mess, or when I stay in my jammies, but I confess, if she did, I'd retaliate right back at her, "You're the one always draped in fur!" Wistful green eyes are staring up at me. This time I won't pretend that I don't see. I've got a hundred paper balls on the floor, but what the heck, I'll just throw some more.