//our old cat
Our Old Cat
Our old cat has no pedigree,
he’s common folk like you and me.
He has a most comforting purr,
eyes blue as the sea at Big Sur.
Our house and yard are his domain.
Sometimes we look for him in vain
finally find him behind a door
curled up in a ball on the floor.
He chewed our catnip to the roots,
basks there warm days waiting for shoots.
He also steps, paws high, through weeds,
purring loudly as on herbs he feeds--
on spicy sprigs of germander
brushed with verbena’s lemon scent.
Finished inspecting, he’s content.