The Shadow Knows

Cat thinks she’s the meow,
loves to bask in her own shadow, turning
this way and that, admiring her pussy
smooth coat, the way her jet black ears
and yellow eyes are suitably distinguished.

She thinks she should be in the catdom
hall of fame, along with tuxedoed pretenders,
and gussied up felines adorned with rhinestones
set off by fancy couture adornments,
perhaps she will, someday, receive her due, as she
walks among a camera totting array
of reporters and admirers, glancing left,
right, and into the distance, nose turned up,
accepting the adulation with a snobbish twist
of her tail, back and forth, back and forth,
as she sizes up who to go home with,
who has the best couch, who knows
to keep their distance when her majesty
sleeps dreaming of mice, laughing
at the dog who now must sleep
on the floor since the arrival of her majesty.