A poem about cats

Windowlight

A quiet cat at windowlight Counts the dust in bars of gold, Flicks one ear at afternoon, And keeps its ancient secrets cold. Velvet paws on wooden floors, Moonlit whiskers, soft command, It makes a kingdom of a chair And rules it with a gentle hand. When night folds up the noisy world, It curls beside the fading fire, A purring clock, a tiny storm, A warm and wordless heart’s desire.

Soft paws. Hard opinions. Naturally.