House Cat
the pet on the couch
wears no clothes.
it walks under beds and could
through dark woods.
it never seeks money,
purrs in content and often
gets touched (compared
to my lack of hugs).
it doesn’t grasp war
or addictions or obsessions
or adulteries.
no ghosts seem to haunt it,
now anyways.
long ago, it was neutered,
its siblings perhaps discarded.
it fled the feral, meowed and
meowed at a random door
and stayed.
===============
Long ago, a cat showed up at our house (me and my wife, now ex-wife), meowed till we let it in. It was young, already neutered. Like so, Bello joined the household. But, like most of my poems, this one isn't 'about' the literal subject so much as it is philosophical.
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