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I found Edna stretched out there,
absorbing the sun.

“You look just like a cat,” I announced
and put down my armload of books.
“Do you also purr?”

“I purr when I feel like purring,” she said,
and then she produced a deliberate,
slow, mouth-open yawn.

“That’s how we yawn,” she told me,
after turning her face to the window.
“Fetch me some mice,” she added,
“and maybe I’ll purr.”

“Will you purr if I pet you?” I asked,
leaning over the window seat
and touching her hair.

“Cats have to be in the mood.
Now go back to shelving your books
while I scratch my fleas.”


Copyright Knute Skinner 2002