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By John I. Blair

You petulantly cry,
Brush your silky fur
Against my shin,
Beg to be picked up.

Soft neck arched,
You butt my thigh, purr,
Expect delight,
Sure I canít deny,
Leastwhile when you leap
Behind my back,
Pink nose at my skin.

Faith will always win,
And all the guile you needís
Within that amber eye.

©2008 John I. Blair

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