My dear love is a cat.
He does not heed my call,
and approaches anyone other than me.
Content next to another, I still hear
his chirrup as I enter the room.
I notice his demure slow blink
as I fall in line to my routine.
Laying on a lap or in the sun,
he happily ignores me until
I seem to have given up hope.
That is when he hops down from the perch,
sauntering over to walk ever-so casually to my lap.
And just as I was about to get moving too!
But then he rests, soft purrs of content
as I finally realize that both my
book and drink are out of reach.
For my love is a cat,
a curious independent spirit
that will only come to me
when I finally relinquish control
and finally allow that love
to actually choose me.