I look into his yellow slitted eye
And stroke behind his ear with fingers three.
His whiskers twitch, he lifts his chin up high
And squints his visage in regard of me.
A rumble fills his throat, but not a sigh
To show his full consent in its degree,
That beast who sates my need to pacify
By giving up some base autonomy.

He stretches back with belly arched to sky,
So warm and fluffy, posed invitingly,
But if my roving hand should dare to try
A careful stroke, it’s easy to foresee
How swiftly his content may fail, and why
The truth can bite as hard as any lie.