The thin cat thinks

All bony and moany,

on hollow stilts he walks,

stumbling to a slow pause.

With dimming lamps

he scans the dumbness of air,

then cries at the memory of the hunt.

The plates of his shoulders

stretch his sparse skin,

and pepper spots

remember lost whiskers.


  1. Lee Dunn says:

    Thanks, Carol, and I hope you are well.


  2. Awesome! Love your writing.

    Liked by 1 person

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