They tumble off the bed and land on padded feet,
light as feathers blown by wind, their movements sure and fleet.
They leap upon the pillows, sliding down the back
of the leather sofa, this little feline pack.
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.
They eye the inert bed cat with a careful glance,
then settle down around her, mirroring her stance.
Tumblers and explorers, their days are wildly varied––
sculptures to be batted at, business to be buried.
Laps to be climbed up on, computers to be checked.
Feathers to be batted at. Bird nests to be wrecked.
With their indulgent human approving all of it,
that nests are being shredded matters not a whit.
These kittens are her little bits of kinetic art,
infusing her still house with a spontaneous heart.
Those who say that kittens are a bother and a mess
could not begin to fathom, to comprehend or guess
how those subtle sounds—each skittering and scratching
heard from the next room is another mystery hatching.
Each tiny paw that walks across her unsuspecting chest
as she lies in bed is a most welcome guest,
messing up the covers of her unruffled day
with an invitation to leave her work and play.