The Convert Poem by Michael Hunter

"When the hell did I become a middle-aged cat person? "
I think to myself in the quiet peace of a morning with
good coffee, good poems, and two loving felines enjoying the stillness with me.

They are so content to simply be near me - to know that I can see them.
They magnetically draw me from my book
to fawn over them, stroke them, and babble sweet words to them.

Their happy rumble greets my words,
they squint their colorful eyes slowly and contentedly
and we bask in the stillness of the morning.
When did I start loving cats?

My big ginger tom boy - with his little girl's voice -
claims my office chair and rolls on his back,
putting his paws in the air and quietly slumbers.

My little long-haired ragamuffin girl - with her gravely smokers-meow -
lays stretched out in the armchair, her beautiful plume of a tail
wrapped daintily around her like her very own mink stole.

Content to just be.

Content to just be near.

Content to just be near me - their middle-aged cat person convert.


© 2012 Michael Hunter