We are the purr

of an elderkitty

on a desk.

We cannot write

like she can

seated on

a cool blank sheet of

paper,

swishing her tale.

With luck

she will work it out

and I can get on

with my job

or perhaps we can both

manage the page

by writing between

each other’s lines,

alternately sharing

this irritable

and joyous

and inevitably

blank page

that ends.

Or we can

walk the dog

who tells his tale

with the almost mute

wag of his nub.

Just a squiggle.

Until then

I sip bad

instant coffee

as quiet as kept.