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Wearing My Cat on My Coat Sleeve

By John I. Blair

Today I wore my navy jacket,
A tint so dark that everything
Will show, my mother said,
When once she taught me
To be neat and brush just so,
With a twisting motion
That picks up hairs and lint
Instead of spreading them around.

But this time I had to rush,
Just yanked it from the rack,
Threw it on my back and off.
Then, sitting in the painful hush
Of my doctor's waiting room
Where harsh fluorescent lights
Leave nothing to imagination,
I looked down at my sleeve

And found my cat had napped
Upon the coat. A mat of golden fluff
Clung smoothly on the cloth
And shimmered in the glare.
My first reaction
Was to rub my hand
In irritation, trying hard
To work off all the errant fur,

Chasing some inherent notion
How my jacket should appear.
But then a silky tuft
Of so-familiar stuff
Reminded me of chilly nights
My cat snugged tight against my feet,
Purring softly in his sleep,
And made my coziness complete.

Copyright 2006 John I. Blair


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