Even the cat grows old,
no longer darting out
a just opened door,
or sneaking like a shadow
too quick for the human eye.
or sneaking like a shadow
too quick for the human eye.
Always pressing
for constant freedom
to be in the garden
from dawn until long after dusk.
Now she merely lifts
an indifferent eye
curled in her comfort
zone kitty basket.
Even the cat grows old
and bothered by the heat
or visitors in her domain.
For unknown reasons
she licked her belly bare
looking pathetic
from the rear view end.
These days she wears
purple pajama pants,
sentenced until
her hair grows back
in hopes she will have forgotten
her neurotic ways.
Some days the cat escapes
this human-like bondage
until she, who
was the girl dressing her cat,
puts them back on
despite indignant feline protest.
Even the cat's life
is captured
by the aging ways
of days.
