An Ode to The Cat On The Moon

Patrick Alderson

A speck of thought; that is her den above the raven river, beyond fields of starlight mice and rabbit tracking shooting star trails. She watches men stare, licks celestial dust from her paws, aware of their thoughts, of their nature, but does not think too much. They are a certainty, they exist. Sheathed claws do not mean that her weapons fade like dying stars after all. Still, they do not matter. They lie below on the ball of blue and green yarn, just a shade amongst shades from her watch spot. Nothing important. Unlike her majesty. Her ears have twitched at the last gasps of dying galaxies, her fur has felt the hot bristle of suns uttering their first summers; distant but plain. She has fished from streams of asteroids, blazed paw-prints in moonlight vapor. She does not need the answer for her kingdom. The prying eyes of lost kittens mean nothing for her play. Too exhausting in the end. She is content to sit and watch, tail scattering dust as she yawns and curls down to sleep.