April Poem

A Natural Petition

When cats go to Heaven

they rearrange the order.

First, who made God, God?

Who decided angels didn’t

need fur, tails and whiskers?

Consider tail as a talking point.

Consider tail as a tour guide.

Consider tail conversational mapping.

But whiskers — ah, they let you

nuzzle a nuzzle. Soft, sexy.

Whiskers are out there

antennae catching vibes.

Whiskers are words

translated into touch.

Fur. . . the grandest of all.

One is always dressed for any

occasion.  Every occasion.

Tuxedo, calico, Bengal, leopard,

Persian. Fur is what the world

would wear if it could.

— Ruth Moose

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