the air that is warm on my arms seems
chilled where it touches my freshly bared thighs
my living heater is heeding a more important call than comfort
can opener in action
a few stray bits of fur float down
left by his passage
more lonely than me
they too are discarded, a new feeling,
less terrible than the shivering fate
that awaits them
huddled in corners
clinging to memories
of silken tongue washings
and a warm body that held them.
the last sound they hear will be
a vacuum cleaner.
the can opener was worse.
i am lucky.
my furry blanket will come back for me
my body then acclimates
perhaps i don't need a substitute blanket
his striped and spotted coat is fickle
like dappled shadows dancing
i smell his fishy breath returning
but the burn in my chest proves
i love my cat
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