When my cat is high, I’m jealous

(Written for a contest “Write a poem based on a poem.’ Inspired by: “My Cat Is High, and So Am I” by Thomas W. Case) Honey, I was stoned, so stoned. I hardly knew what was going on. That’s when I saw it was gone. The moon, I mean - hold on - Takes a swig of tart, but sugary lemonade I watch the moon - when it’s there - you know? I’ve always loved the moon - its reflective glamor, the way it seems to bend light around it, like a beautiful woman walking into a bar. The moons like my cat, she has beauty, without vanity - and without much gravity - like, you know - the moon. But as I was saying, it was gone - suddenly? It felt sudden - and visceral - like I’d misplaced something. I know what you’re thinking, and no, it wasn't behind clouds. So anyway, man, I looked around and there it was, as if by magic, it couldn’t have been any clearer and it's never looked nearer, than it was, right there, in my rear-view mirror. I had to laugh. You see, I was stoned - so stoned. Stoned - but I’m never alone, when I can commune with the distant, inconstant, love of my life, the ever-argent moon.