The ginger cat is my Dark Lady,
the penates of my lair.
He is my Scarlet Pimpernel—
I seek him here, I seek him there.
He licks in shape the purple flame
of perfervid fabrication
and scrambles for fresh figments
on my tree of inspiration.
He scuffles in the spinifex
by my broad poetic sea;
he pounces on my deepest thoughts
and drags their guts to me.
When he has my thoughts in shape
at last, he'll then defer
his efforts with some well-earned sleep
to dream, perchance to purr.
(First published in Field Notes Makaro Press,
Wellington, NZ, 2017)
