The Neighbor's Cat 2

His tribe are the warriors,

and the hunters,

and the ones who roam the streets at night.

Gliding through the shadows

looking for a fight.

And then one day I saw him

curled up in a flowerbed.

Daffodil petals scattered over and around him.

Nose pointed up, inhaling the breeze

as it ruffled his ragged ears.

Eyes closed, a smile on his face.

And that's when I knew,

he is a poet.

And then one day I saw him

playing with a butterfly.

Rolling on the grass, batting with soft paws.

Twisting and turning mid-leap

only to fall and roll again.

Butterfly fluttering around his nose

as he laughed out loud.

And that's when I knew,

he is a sacred clown.

And the one day I saw him

speaking quietly to a tree.

Face serious, ears back, claws reaching

higher and higher up the trunk

as his body doubled in length.

A gentle puncture to connect to the spirit.

And that's when I knew,

he is a mystic.

His tribe are the warriors

but he makes no war.

His tribe are the hunters

but he no longer hunts.

He roams the streets at night.

He glides through the shadows.

Finally coming to rest in my garden,

he purrs loudly when I scratch behind his ear.

As I sit beside him

he rubs his cheek across mine

and claims me as his.

And now I know,

he is a lover.