Black cat, with eyes of gold --
Nuggets, with which you behold
Mice, or men; or mites, or me;
Or whatsoever things you see.
You see it all, with studied stare,
From table-top or comfy chair.
You see. Observe. You look intent,
As if on this your fate was bent.
But should I seek to ascertain
What holds you so, with calm disdain
You swish your tail, as if to say,
"Oh, Nothing," and you walk away;
Leaving me with mild unease,
And wishing you would (if you please)
Show me on what your vision froze.
But you're already in repose,
Curled asleep (or so I think --
Or did I just see an eyelid blink?)