Hartley

I know a fat cat.

Thirteen pounds with a white stomach

That hangs like a pouch.

I call him Fat Bastard.

His eyes are green

Like marbles

Swirling with some sort of plot

Behind his narrow pupils.

I wonder what he thinks about.

Probably just dinner,

But sometimes I wonder

If he’s planning something greater.

His honey fur is patterned

With patches of white and black.

Under his small pink nose,

He has a little tan spot

But only on the one side.

And his tail is just a nub

But I’m sure he doesn’t realize.

And when he sleeps

In the warm sun

He is the sweetest

As he makes small noises

And he yawns and stretches.

And sometimes

He’ll sleep on my chest

And snuggle up against me

But normally, he is,

As I said,

A Fat Bastard

Living his best life

Wreaking chaos

In his own little world.