This will not be the day.
She sits purring on my knee
Or crouches in the corner
Near British mysteries and unread Micheners
Destined to be there a little longer.
She jumps today and scratches
And deposits her beloved toy at my toes.
Her eyes as bright this morning as the first time.
As innocent and devilish.
She fights the mouse for my attention.
Demands my fingers stroke her head.
And not the keyboard.
She curls finally upon my lap.
And purrs at me.
And it is as if
All our yesterdays are moments and not years.
This will not be the day