
My Favorite Human
I prefer the woman not because
she greets me each morning
or fills our bowls to the top
(though I admit that’s a plus)
or because her roof is accessible
or her mesquite trees have branches
strong enough to hold me.
I favor the woman because
she’s almost never home.
She disappears for hours,
coming home too bushed
to monitor our activities.
The others get jealous
when she stays away.
They don’t realize that
the less she knows about
our routines and pleasures,
the less she knows what to expect.
Thus we’re unhampered
by human expectations
of when we should eat
or sleep or how much
we ought to purr.
My housemates complain
because they’re too immature
to see how sweet they’ve got it.
I don’t tell them otherwise.
If they become disillusioned enough,
they’ll run away, in which case
The Pink House and its woman
will be all mine.
Hear the woman read one of my other poems, "Pink House Cat," on youtube.
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