8.30 AM
the cat pads across the quilt
he puts a paw of claws
gently into my cheek
like its my ON button
tick tock its injection o clock
i say
i'm on it fella
it comes out as a morning growl
he is patient
he is used to waiting for me
as i slowly
fall out
of my dreams
i fold myself out the bed
like a collapsing deckchair
i walk to the kitchen
my legs like dry wood
i puncture his scruff
with a needle again
he is very good
he is completely still
and in the smudge of sun on the lino
he is a wonderful black-brown today
i realise he is part of me
those kitten eyes at 17
his neat paws
part of our life and day
i manage to brew a coffee
i manage to check the news . . .
. . . i am back under the quilt
wondering why the govt this
and why the govt that
and why i even looked
and what did i exactly expect to find
in the
phone screen
poptart
headlines ?
the black-brown cat
has had a drink of filtered water
had eaten his renal biscuits
is padding up the quilt
curling into a circle
resting his back and warmth
against the pain in my hips
i rest a hand on his miniature shoulders
i still find it a wonder
that this little naked animal
likes me so much
soon he is snoring
like apnea like asthma like a tractor
no news needed
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