(for Maxi on our first anniversary)

Dude, I love the way you sleep around,
finding cooler spots in summer,
hibernating in the cozier places in winter—

though you have enough fur on you
to outfit two decent-sized chihuahuas
and still maintain your own warm coat—

currently tucked into the big closet on
a towel I brought home with you two
days after Mother drifted into mystery.

You walked into the cat carrier without
coaxing or a shove, much to our amazement,
as Donna and I sat with you on the carpet.

“They never do that,” we marveled, instantly
adding, “Thank you, Mother,” suspecting
her assistance from her new location.

I know that you didn’t want to leave the one
who rescued you years ago, and, believe me,
she didn’t want to leave you. But Dude,

you got me. It’s taken time to get used to me—
you one woman cat, you—and though
you will still not allow me to heft you

into my arms when standing, I can,
when lying in bed, you pillow-plopped
at my side, drag your sizeable bulk onto me,

patting you and telling you what a fabulous
feline you are. Mother said, “He’s easy.
You’ll love him,” even as she refused

to believe that she was dying. She knew
we’d be good together, the woman who
taught her girls about rescuing kitties

and puppies and finding them good homes.
So here’s to us, big guy, on our first anniversary.
And Ma, you could never hear this enough:

You were right. You were so, so right.