**Poetry: To My Muse

 To My Muse (A Selection from Old Possum’s Book of the Most Impractical of Cats) 

Magic, she says, and I think of my cat- 

tiger thin, gray around the bones,

from all her mousing and guerilla attacks. 

She survived a coyote run-in once,

a toss from the deck,

and neighborhood fights with fist

and claw against a stray.

Scrappy now, 

the runt of the litter

fully grown

nibbling on plastic

and the toxic leaves of a lily-

She is still here.

Of course all cats have 9 Lives. 

She may have more, if the goddess

can rightly claim her, or the Oracle

at Delphi. 

Mews, someone once said, 

because her song was a twitter, sweet,

a question more than a plea.

But I would have no other enchantress

inspire with images and rhyme

than the immortal fur ball. 

I am the winged horse in flight

at her service 

supplying her 

each and every morning 

with treats.