The Black Cat: poetry

The Black Cat

This afternoon

the black cat warmed himself

in a sunny part of the garden

where sunflowers had been planted

and harvested.

He rolled on his back

in a patch of catnip

planted for him between the sunflowers

and when he finished …

waited for the birds

who would come for the seed I put out.

He does it only when the sun shines;

he's never caught anything

and if I didn't feed him he'd starve

and he's not ashamed...

he thinks that's how it should be

and I agree.