You think I don’t love you,
that I think of you as
just the feeder?

What about when I curl up
right between your legs at night,
locking you into warmth?

When I sniff the socks you’ve
just removed to inhale
the essence of you that walks
through the world every day?

When I leave you an offering
in sand, a bit of ephemeral art
shaped just so, which I know
you will scoop into a bag
and throw away?

That’s affection, my fine
feeder friend, a bit of
feline adoration sculpted
just for you.