Cat

Cat
you’re going bald and you’re old.
It isn’t your fault.
You’re still sleek and black on my lap
But your belly shows through white like a fawn
where the skin is bare
except for a thin wisp of hair.
Your ear is notched from where you bit the live wire
You’re wearing at the shanks like old upolstry.
Sometimes.
When you jump for the sofa you miss.
We all get old and
when that happens
we can roll along steady
till a single rock in the road
sends us flying.

Still
when you want to
you can jump from the floor to the bookshelf
with nothing to boost you.
Which is like me vaulting my ass
onto the roof of this one story ranch
in one leap.
Like Spiderman.
Maybe you’ve got a few good years left.
I hope so.
You look at me like you know me.
Your eyes are golden keyholes when you dream.