Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Moose

Moose

As I sit typing, she is patting my arm
with her paw. Her throaty purr
fills the quiet room, eyes
yellow green, big as an owl’s.
When we first met, eleven years ago
her Siamese mom brayed,
her dorky orange tabby brother
gamboled, and she sat, big eyed
and too cool for the people.
Now in her eighties people-year-wise
she looks at me with love
and purrs all the louder.
She is still kittenish from time to time
flopping on her side and showing off
her fine gray belly fur;
I have tied Rim Chung’s RS2 trout fly
with that fur for fishing the Guadalupe.
She is stuffed between recliner and couch section,
hard against my leg with her chin resting on my laptop.
When I first met Monica, Moose challenged her
as alpha female. Eleven years later, she grudgingly
acknowledges Monique as materfamilias.
I will miss her terribly when her time comes.

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