Tom Poem by William B. Watterson

Today you came in bloody, having fought
Black Ebony up on the hill behind
Our house. I saw you lying there and thought
How primitive the urges of your mind
That make you howl and cry and scratch
Your neighbor in the face. And why am I
The fool who every day must try to patch
Your wounds? But now across my lap you lie
Tonight in bliss, and I can see your face
Reflecting fertile dreams of your lost youth.
You knead my sweater once to make a place
To sleep, and grin at me with yellowed tooth
Which mocks my foolish, human effort that
Would try to understand the mind of a cat.