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