If my human wants time alone,
wants solitude in the bathroom when she’s inside,
then why does she take every opportunity
to dig in the litter box finding what I hide?
If my human thinks those toys
she buys at the store are better than trash
then why does she hoard the garbage
and sneak it away to some secret stash?
If my human believes I’m a clean obsessive,
grooming until I must sleep,
then why does she change her fur each day,
cursing the mirror with words I bleep?
If my human sees my window viewing
as wasted time watching birds fly
then why has she built a shrine to moving pictures,
watching till water escapes her eyes?
If my human is a just human,
another bipedal with opposing thumbs,
then why does she creep, leap, and stalk,
acting most cat-like when night comes?
©March 2016, Christina Anne Hawthorne