Ode to Toulouse the Cat

My third cat.
Seldom am I mad at him
more often I fear what he thinks I’m thinking.
But his gold eyes do not judge.

Toulouse the cat lays the length
of my arm
keeping it warm,
Being still
until I touch him
then turning with ancient motion
to reach my hand with a wet nose.

The shock of his cold nose
Is icy water running over noisy rocks
Fresh crisp air
Leaves laughing
Trying to pull away from trees
Like 2 year olds pull away from mommy.

Sometimes my cat
really looks at me
like he knows me
almost human
bonded, trusting, familiar
I’ve wanted to belong all my life.

My home hugs three felines.
My home is their safe den
where I’m the interloper.

It’s curious isn’t it?
Cat foreheads wrinkle
Like an accordion

My own concerned forehead
Drives my behavior
And I try not to judge because
It makes my nose cold
And a little wet.

Lynette Hensley10/15/2020