CCVII and CCVIII: The Seven Days of October: iii and iv

My cat has suddenly arranged to sleep

upon my belly when I take my rest.

Perhaps he knows how fun it is to keep

appearances in October’s fay fest.

Most Autumn scenes depict a witch’s cat

upon her broom, or on her front doormat,

or sitting down beside her pointy hat;

but mine prefers to sleep where’er I’m at.

But this month’s as much his as it is mine,

he’ll strike whatever pose that he prefers.

Each cat, each gourd, each brittle leaf combine

to make the art that’s Fall—as my cat purrs.

So we will sleep our harvest hours away

while other cats outside can have their say.

~~~

I wake. I have to push my cat aside.

(not rudely, but he can’t make me his roost).

I walk up to the door to see how wide

I’ll open it before the cold’s induced.

Not very wide, it seems. My clammy toes

protest and do their best to run and hide.

But I so like the feeling, I suppose,

of cold air, grinning, rushing on inside.

It makes me all the gladder to close up

the door, to feel the warmth we’ve won in here.

It makes me prouder to go make a cup

of something hot and sweet to ward the drear.

The kitten yowls. It’s time to start this day;

but, for awhile, we’ll sit inside and stay.