I’m ready now to leave the house.
My dressing gown
thrown on the bed.
I knew she’d go for that
and make her own bed.
And she knew I was watching her closely.
Nearby lay my Sunday best clothes,
just as tempting to her. Her claws
go out to them. It was not
easy to do; shoo her away.
And relenting she went back
to her favourite anyway.
Here is her church of thankfulness.
I go to commune with my friends
knowing she’ll stay here the rest
of the day. And we’ll both
have made prayers of gratitude.
Her devotion is unbearable.
It is now late in the day.
How favourite can my
dressing gown be
to my little cat?
Benita H. Kape © 20.1.2019
Influence for this poem from the lines “Do cats pray when they sleep?” Mary Oliver
Poem I Happen To Be Standing