Midnight sports a spot of white,
green eyes flecked with gold.
A starving kitten from the brush
Her coming was foretold.
She met my wife in a dream.
Come morning she arrived,
Begging us to take her in.
We fed her; she survived.
Lapping up a bowl of milk,
fortified with egg.
She ate her fill, went belly up.
We scratched, she shook her leg.
Right away she seemed at home.
She ate and slept a week.
Then began to fill the house
with happy kitten squeaks.
When darkness falls she roosts up high,
enthroned above the floor.
She stretches as we stroke her fur.
She knows whom we adore.
Ambush hunter she will play,
attacking high and low.
Tags one gently on the knee,
the other on the toe.
She stays in sunshine ’round the house
as it keeps each window warm.
She has some secret spots as well
for hiding in a storm.
She senses when we’re in a funk,
a slump, or gloomy day.
A quizzical tilt, a playful nudge –
She drives our blues away.
She loves us. We love her.
The bond between us thickens.
She’ll come back as a human one day.
Or we’ll reincarnate as kittens.