Cat

Emily Rosen

Silent

The cat

Who tiptoes on ledges

Arches

Her spine

One-eighty degrees

Chews

The flowers

Impeccable hygiene

Jumping

Ten feet

By bending her knees

Sleeps in

A drawer

Dark, dank, and dusty

Ignores

The bed

In her very own room

And food

That’s not

Premium tuna

Isn’t

A meal

She’ll ever consume

Her fur

Is the hue

Of mineral onyx

Her eyes

Are the stars

That blaze through the night

Her tail

Only wags

When something annoys her

Like dogs

Loud noises

And closed exits might

A ball

Of tinfoil

She’ll play with for hours

Tangle

Herself

In a jumble of string

But a bird

On the other

Side of the window

Will attract

Her attention

Like no other thing.