Whiskers do not make a philosopher, neither beard. Scars rendition

My cat, let me thank you.
For all the scratches – now I have a plan
of embracing patience. Very busy.
I can’t believe it’s that busy.

Now I don’t trust neither naps, nor stillness.
That’s what you taught me –
No touching in this heavenly presence
Of not desiring to be touched;

Even all kinds of beasts, neighbors, for instance,
Shall keep their touchy words to themselves:
Right there, where I go to love them
like I should love myself. It’s universal.

Bibbly bably bobly – hell, you tamed us all,
Long before civilizations fell. Or did you?..
Do we overcompensate with figurative speech?
I guess, there is a reason why cats don’t get
“Who is a good girl? Who is??? Oh, mister flufflers. ”

Petting is just a petting, I guess. Being real
Is just coughing fur balls in a discerning manner.
On a carpet. Everyone watching. Carpetal breakdown.
Carpet cat perdition. And that’s ok. We can shed it off.

But. To be real.

Missis fluffers, you care about our home, I have seen you
Staring through window in peace,
I think, your independence is innocent.

You never come to console me. I get angry.
Yet you always hide when there is shouting at home.
Or kids outside. Or hurting. Or playing.

Sometimes I think, if I had to leave you,
How would I explain all the scars on my arms?
How can you be a human with the marks of the cat
You left?

Funny how it is easier with humans.