dear disaster cat,

a grandmother had to die
in order for us to become roommates,
and in case you aren't keeping score:
four world dictators have fallen, and still
you question the safety of my sheets..
beneath my bed you sleep.
at 4:30 every morning you decide it's time
to lick your butt aggressively,
my alarm doesn't go off until 5am..
please stop.
you won't eat unless my feet are next to you,
it's a little cute, but I refute the purpose.
you circle my ankles like a shark,
back arched, body rubbing against shins
until I give in and the hand of heaven
reaches down to pet you.
it's a little cute, don't stop.

right now you are curled up on my toes,
purring while I write this poem,
and I'm watching the ice cubes melt in my empty glass
because I refuse to disrupt your cuteness.

yours truly,
the partially buzzed poet.