Yawn, stretch, claw

Grey softness, grey sleep
She stretches over the most
Awkward lullaby, closes her eyes
And pretends I am not close by.

Only when there is sudden movement
Will her whiskers twitch,
Her ears rise, and her eyes open.
She is the queen of temperament.

Her ancestors sailed upon lonely
Vessels away from New England and
Taking port at Key West for the gift
Of one white cat to Hemingway.

Yawn, stretch, claw
Twenty two pink pads, now curled up
In the southwest sun.