When our cat Lille En died, the thing I missed most was her daily lap visits. She would get in my lap every morning while I woke up with my first cup of coffee. The empty lap felt like too much to bear, so I convinced Robert—and myself—that rescuing another cat was a *great* idea.

Oh, boy.

I was not prepared for the big kitten energy. Though technically an adult cat, one-year-old Fleur quickly earned the nickname Fleur the Blur. Our resident parkour expert and worm toy aficionado was more of a drive-by lap cat at best, something akin to snuggling with a Tasmanian devil.

I was bummed out about this for a long time. I know all cats are different, but dang it! I was hopeful. If there was lap time at all, it was usually with Robert. But things started to shift when she passed the two-year-old mark a few months ago. Worm toy is life—still—but she’s decided lap time is nice, too. Now, on many days, she moves in for cuddling, and I am her willing hostage.

That brings me to two recent poems by the incredible poet, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer.

Self-Portrait as Cat Pillow

Each time the cat leaps up

onto the bed, she makes

a small bright sound.

I love this sound. Love knowing

that soon her warm weight

will curl into or on top of my belly.

It’s addictive as the chime

of an incoming text.

Read the full poem on her site, Self-Portrait as Cat Pillow | A Hundred Falling Veils.

Big Conversation

I’ve become the person who talks to avocados.

Oh, look how ripe you are!

The one who talks to dust bunnies under the bed.

Oh, my goodness. How long have you been there?

I’ve become the person who narrates wind as it gusts,

the one who composes out loud while writing poems.

In short, I’m the person who once mystified me.”

Read the full poem here: Big Conversation | A Hundred Falling Veils

I especially love the line, “I am the person who once mystified me.” 

I feel the truth of that every day.