My cat, Marlowe wrote a poem. He’s a literary cat.
I saw purple, I think.
I tried to chase it, but it I’m pretty sure my sister ate it.
I dream fast and loud.
I like the printer.
Sometimes I’m a lion.
I bit you because you rubbed my tummy when I wasn’t ready.
I have to be ready.
I sleep with my head upside-down because I can.
I found a stash of whiskers in the bowl on the thing I’m not allowed on.
They better be my whiskers.
I brought you a toy and you threw it.
I sat on your neck because my paws were cold.
I threw up behind the lamp in the dining room three weeks ago.
You should clean more.
I like it when I curl into your tummy under the covers at night.
You’re not furry, but you’re warm.
And you feel like home.