Engrossed in my morning rituals
I hear the bamboo curtain's shimmer
and know I'm about to be visited.
You jump onto the old desk - the one I really should replace -
I say hello and pat you on the head,
then return to my writing.
You turn in circles on the small magazine pile;
you sniff the Sun - its pages folded back -
then you settle in and tuck your front paws underneath your silken gray body.
You don't notice Shambhala Sun in the stack -
you've got buddha nature already -
you sit on it, making me giggle.
You position your back toward me;
the 8 am sun shines on you, making a dancey rainbow on your fur,
I think of Roy G. Biv and start the petting.
You purr and begin to bathe,
the bell on your collar marking each lick;
I am enchanted by your catness and grateful for this quiet moment.
The bamboo curtain rustles again and I know our alone time is over
for the whippet has come to bust up the kitty lovin',
how does she always know?
I would have sworn she was in a deep sleep, chasing bunnies in her dreams.