In my pencil case I like to keep
A miniature cat who's fast asleep.
When I reach for a pen, my finger tips
Stroke her and put a smile on my lips.

I like to feel the touch of her fur
Or, head on my desk, to hear her purr.
I don't need a sharpener, not with her claws,
And nothing goes missing; all's safe in her paws

Till this morning . . .

My tears are born of sorrow, not rage,
At the tiny pawprints across my page.

poem © Celia Warren 2011

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