Musings of a Poetic Cat

You imagine me, curled like a comma
in your lap, the rumble of my purr,
your fingers stroking silky fur,
and wonder why I walk alone.

I greet you with a gentle head butt
following a successful hunt;
however, my gift is unappreciated,
you grimace and refuse to eat it.

You fail to understand that I was born
into feline aristocracy; a mouse, a bird,
a butterfly is a honourable oblation
to my surrogate family.

While on your lap, I hunt in dreams
for perfection in feline poetry.