The Cat Returning

She was there all night

Curled tightly on my left side

Against my front or back

I rolled

She woke and squawked

Turned round and curled down again

Like a dog

Though I’d never tell her that

When I rose, she disappeared

To wherever cats disappear

In the gray minutes before dawn

But there she was again

When the food rattled into her dish

To rub against my arm

And squawk

She only has one tone

Pissed off

Even when she’s purring

I opened the door

She raced into the hall

Daring me to chase her

But I left her to her adventures

And I to my laundry

She sat in the window

Between the last two apartments

Who must live there

They never come out to investigate

The squawking

She raced back

Digging claws into orange 1970’s mistakes

Turning the corner towards home

I sit down for coffee

Feet propped up

She is there

Complaining that the lap is too small

Petting too slow

Purring

I rise again to shower

Dress

Sit to wait the minutes

Garrison Keilor reads

A poem about hitchhiking in Australia

She is there

Curled into the crevice of my lap

Chin pillowed on the back of my hand

Twitches an ear

Every time I exhale

Yellow eyes determinedly closed

I don’t know why

She likes my lap

It can’t be any softer

Or any bigger

It moves and wiggles

And leaves far too often

For her satisfaction

But I’m glad she likes it

I’m glad to have another heart

Beating in my bed

Making my home our home

I’m glad she keeps returning