Your Cat
The cat has your bone structure,
it also sashays and allures.
In an alcohol-fueled reverie
it turned up
as thin as a velvet spider.
However, it died
before our love did.
Pets are obtrusive, not conducive
to good or bad memories,
they play the field
demanding to be relevant
long after their passing.
Your cat considers me a villain,
it lingers on as some kind of
a stalking succubus,
the very model of your character
reminding me (as if necessary),
of your everlasting disapproval.
I overhear that damn cat,
positively purring when I am feeling sad,
and on a good day
its sexually vexatious yowling
warns me
never to take
a good cat for granted.
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