I have this cat, he's a Russian Blue.
But everyone that has cats knows that's not true,
because as felines profess know-it is they who own you.
He's not even really blue, more of a grey,
but his silver coat shines in a certain way
in the afternoon light of any sunny gold day.
He showed up one day where I now live,
asking for any extra love I could spare to give,
though hardly desperate and still quite furtive.
Sure it started out so innocently slow,
an outdoor kitty, but inside he's soon allowed to go-
he's on my bed right now-I just know!
He has a smoky cough and missing part of his left ear,
yet even with his claws and flaws, to our family he’s quite dear.
He’s even learned some English within the first year here!
He likely has a sorted past.
His walk is any gait but fast.
We will never bother to ask where he was last.
He's the first of his kind upon my lap,
always kneeding to take a nap.
His purr melts my heart like sweet honey sap.
He's not a lean, skitzo, or hyper thing,
yet I have caught him imagining,
chasing his tail or lion-dreaming.
He must just smell that certain human look,
common to those ones who often carry a book,
because he knows they will always find the coziest nook.
Perhaps some of the cats we label as “stray”-
actually know their way,
but didn't have the words to say,
"I think I'll find a different home,
and until I find the right one I'll roam-
I hope I find one that has a decent flea comb.”
He's the other sock in a pair
the other cats he likes to taunt and scare,
as for me, he loves to just sit and stare.
It’s for sure, I've never been loved more
by a furry thing with legs of four.
His Cheshire smile and blocky head I simply adore.
I don't think his nine lives will be enough.
When he reaches number 8 it will be rough,
(even though we both like to act tough).
Yet while he's here to help me every day,
laying on my stuff in that innocent way,
or scratching the furniture in bursts of play,
I'll worship him for the gift of daily smiles,
ignore the wafting back yard mystery piles,
and be thankful for his cat walk across miles,
where he found his matching human pair,
one that likewise does not yet have gray hair,
he’s my gray stray with a tryst, my feline affair.
