She is silver, signifying wealth.
Each blue hair
is tipped with shine,
and she lets me know she thinks
I’m a dud, even though I’m the one
who put a toy mouse stuffed
with catnip into the bathtub
so that she could slip, paw, tumble
and chase it all about.
She chews each corner
of my journal, has been known
to stick her nose in my coffee,
fish shrimp out of a temporarily
unattended bowl of steaming
Top Ramen, and steal
anything she has a mind to steal
from my kitchen counter.
She has the mentality of
a five-year-old with an awful
case of the terrible twos.
Kaylee is a Korat. Google that,
then be filled with wonder,
dear reader, at the mental
instability of this author.