This Cat

This cat slinks, creeps
into rooms, the ruins
of many a holiday
in soft golden light.

Mottled, she mews,
back arched clown,
perhaps of self
catalytic origin.

She’s fleecy, wooly
tufted, easily shocked,
as if any thought
is a threat

to one’s peace
full sleeper day,
like a vacuum
or a house rejigged.

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