I swear there is a soul burning in those agate-eyes
where the Persian ginger cat looks lovingly at me
but looks at the world like a shrewd hunter,
do make its purring sounds, are velvet-soft, under my right hand,
at night go and hunt with a sly vicious brain,
do entrust me with gifts of rats and doves,
lovingly tender sometimes hold my strongest hand among its paws
and against most dogs he is hostile to the extreme
but goes and lies snugly against the brown Labrador,
turns on its back and streched-out draws in the sun,
sometimes his eyes burn intensely with an own deep kind of fire
while he washes his whole body
and where I go both the dog and cat do follow me,
the one stands at my side and the other rubs against me.
© Gert Strydom
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