Dewy, Dewy, Dewy, do you love me?
Dewy, Dewy, Dewy, do you care?
Dewy, Dewy, are you thinking of me?
Dewy, Dewy, will you still be there?
—1970s pop song

And he is there—Dewy remembers me,
who visited him last year—coming
to drape his long, lanky form down
mine, gaze into my eyes with the soulful
look of a momentary lover, making me
feel adored, if not forever, at least
in the moment.

I know that he will tire of this, remove
himself to another part of the house,
search for the human female to whom
he’s truly devoted. I get it—she’s
the kitty mom here, my friend
who’s invited me to stay.

And you gotta love a guy
who loves his mom, because
that weighty feline blanket draped
over me for even a little while
offers the kind of warmth that,
if nothing else, sends each of us—
purring right along with him—
into a sweet cat nap.

•••

With thanks to Terri and Al Wolf, for inviting me to visit them in the California desert,
and to Dewy and Quince, most excellent feline hosts.