He has a bulls-eye on his side.

A twirl design.

His previous owners called him Duke.

The Duke of Swirl.

He is sleeping for once.

Silent. It is welcome.

He likes to talk, to tell me about his day.

About how angry he is that I stayed away at work.

That his wet food is cold and his dry food is stale.

 

He likes to go out the front door and two minutes later come in the back.

And he wants out again a few minutes, just because.

He loves bringing presents,

Rats, dead and alive,

Small birds, an occasional large bug.

He is generous to a fault.

 

He has not quite figured out doors.

That he cannot stand in them,

half in and half out.

That the bathroom door opens

With just a push of the nose.

Or that doors are closed to keep him out.

He wants to be everywhere.

He tells us so.

 

Ceiling fans are a mystery.

He watches them and studies them.

His human Father is a mystery too.

He isn’t sure what to do when the large human picks him up

Talking kitty scat to him.

 

He sleeps with me. Nightly.

Snuggling close for warmth,

Even on hot nights.

He attacks my toes in the middle of the night.

I swear at him. He meows back.

 

He watches the microwave carefully as it hisses at him.

 

He follows me from one room to the next

He wants me to follow him outside,

for safety or company,

To share his adventure perhaps.

 

He comes home and jumps on the bed,

insisting for my full attention.

All of it. No playing on my phone

No putting things away.

It is his time, his special time with me.

 

His vocabulary is vast.

We struggle

I do not speak kitty well.

He is teaching me.

We teach each other.

 

I heard him say NO

More than once.

 

Duke is resting now

Before his next parade for food

I can write of him

I can love him

But i can never ignore him

He is the Duke of Swirl.