CAT SITTING
by Michael Favala Goldman
It starts with one paw,
lightly, on my belly.
I push it away.
It returns
with more pressure.
Then a second paw
and a stealthy creep
up my torso.
Twenty pounds
of sinewy, warm
animal pressed
to my bosom.
The cat begins
kneading my sternum,
as if I were
a mouse, perhaps
its little plaything
grown to ridiculous size.
I am not
entertaining
at four-thirty
in the morning.
The cat stretches
its neck,
plants a gentle,
needle-tipped
bite
on the bulb
of my nose.
I’m up!
lightly, on my belly.
I push it away.
It returns
with more pressure.
Then a second paw
and a stealthy creep
up my torso.
Twenty pounds
of sinewy, warm
animal pressed
to my bosom.
The cat begins
kneading my sternum,
as if I were
a mouse, perhaps
its little plaything
grown to ridiculous size.
I am not
entertaining
at four-thirty
in the morning.
The cat stretches
its neck,
plants a gentle,
needle-tipped
bite
on the bulb
of my nose.
I’m up!