Friday

insistent gray cat
arranges herself on my legs
blocking my lap-top
half-written poem
blinks on the screen,

she rubs her head
against the palm of my hand
turns left and ride
on her side and her back
eyes squeezed closed,

chin on her paws
tail wagging
white tip
tracing patterns
through Friday-morning air,

warmth of her fur
feel of her heartbeat
on bare thighs
as we both listen
to Fresh Air,

they say cats
self domesticated
choose to live with us
not our choice
to live with them,

from her slumber
eyes open
swats me with a paw
jumps to the floor
walks away,

poem on the lap-top screen
blinks twice
swats me with words
that don’t fit
morning radio goes silent,

announcer announces
technical difficulties
nondescript jazz
fills the Fresh Air
void,

no NPR, no cat, no poem
cell phone rings
my lunch date cancels
other commitments
preclude lunch with me,