Woody butts his forehead

against ours. Number five

on the list of ways

our cats show they love us.


He sits on a tall stool

while we sip wine, eat

olives, and cook

our dinner -purring


and content in a life

where he’s lost his tail

and his balance. His

soft fur and calming


purrs make each

day bearable. Our pets,

little fur people,  some

say.  Curled between

our bodies in the night;


Dreaming kitten dreams

between nightmares.

I wake at 3 a.m. and

he’s there, still, soft,


reassuring. Marge

Piercy titled her memoir

Sleeping with Cats,

and there’s a reason.



This is Poem #18 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.


RIP Woody.