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My human thinks Iím a dog.
I stare through the picket fence,
watch dogs trotting on leads,
snuffling at the pavement,
obedient, obsequious.

 I meow.

 My human thinks Iím a dog.
She walks me on a harness.
She says the red colour
shows off my green eyes,
complements my blue-grey fur.

 I hide.

 My human thinks Iím a dog.
I climb trees; she pulls me down.
I chase birds; she tugs the lead.
I crunch grasshoppers; she frowns.
I bolt home; she says Ďsití.

 I yowl.

 This morning when I wake
she grooms me with a brush,
strokes me, exclaims
Ďthere are rainbows in your fur.
You are my lovely catí.

 I purr.

 Lynette M. Arden


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