They tumble off the bed and land on padded feet,
light as feathers blown by wind, their movements sure and fleet.
Off on single sorties, still they must collect
together in a pile to communally reflect
on the adventures of the day: the palm fronds they’ve combatted
and all the tiny spaces they have covertly catted.
They bravely face the secrets under the guest room bed,
approaching cowering crickets with fascinated dread.
Tumblers and explorers, their days are wildly varied––
sculptures to be batted at, business to be buried.
With their indulgent human approving all of it,
that nests are being shredded matters not a whit.
Each tiny paw that walks across her unsuspecting chest
as she lies in bed is a most welcome guest,