"J'ai pour les bêtes, toutes les bêtes, un cœur de concierge, et de vieille concierge"
(Paul Léautaud")
The nite yowls that mean I'm still here and glad you are, too,
yes. even in my dreams;
for he's an ideal and not some cartoon cat who dangles hearts
with the usual cheeky dare.
A dark cellar or not he'll gladly be boxed in if need be, just there
le chat and his old maven self,
like the eating and preening critter he is til he be pilled, of course,
a final time, come the end of
the worn glassy-eyed chat machine who'll die in my bare arm, or alone
just there, & glad you are, too
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