the cat, aka "3am wonder," sits on the desk eyeing the mouse
the mouse pretends to be simply an extension of the computer
but "3" knows better; his lion-like eyes don't miss a beat
not a heart beat of the little plastic mouse goes 'boop' without "3" to see
his claws sharp like razors, (so often I have screeched from his greet)
they pulse in and out, in and out, preparing for the meet
perhaps it's jeal-o-see, as he sees me, so tenderlee I release
that little mouse with the long, long tail
and glide it lightlee around the pad.
or is it a plate?
perhaps "3" sees the flesh not as meat but intruder
into what has become a comfee place to sleep.
me, a referee.
This is why it's important for people to get a good night's rest. Otherwise, you start to speak in tongues, slowly slipping away from reality (whatever that is!). So, for those who don't know, a cat wandered into my life and home a little while ago. Not sure whether it's a female or a neutered male but it feels like a "he" and he comes to life at night. Why is this? Further reason for me to be a dog-person. In writing this poem as an email to my sister tonight, the name "3" came to be -- he is so consistent with this wake-up time; afterall, it's a good time 
to chase a pen around the wooden floor; might as well take a poop; then a pee; then scratch around the litter box until it three-times buried; up and down the stairs to the loft; stand on my back since my head is under the pillow; time to go back to the pen.... you get the point. He offers me no affection but demands love, food, water, and more space on the bed with a yowl. When I'm worked up and emotional from a heartbreaking day at the Shelter, he looks at me as if to say: "Really?! Tell someone who cares. But first, more food."
to chase a pen around the wooden floor; might as well take a poop; then a pee; then scratch around the litter box until it three-times buried; up and down the stairs to the loft; stand on my back since my head is under the pillow; time to go back to the pen.... you get the point. He offers me no affection but demands love, food, water, and more space on the bed with a yowl. When I'm worked up and emotional from a heartbreaking day at the Shelter, he looks at me as if to say: "Really?! Tell someone who cares. But first, more food."I've let folks around here know that I'm temporarily looking after a cat who would make a great pet for a cat person. Spread the word. A co-worker is looking for a home for her overly active and under-exercised 90 lb. female bloodhound; I'm thinking we can make
a deal.
a deal.
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