the cat parks on my bed every morning, dares me to try & make it, what’s it to him if sheets are untucked twisted & tossed, the blanket crumpled, pillows strewn I pass & repass his steady glare, sometimes hours pass before he feels the urge to move, by then I may be otherwise engaged, well into my day, my chore forgotten evenings, when I’m too worn down to retuck corners snap away wrinkles, he eases into the tangle with me lithe unknowable familiar, he curls into my armpit, purrs against my cheek, nips my wrist, nothing but grip & release, not like the early days when those bites drew blood — his are urgent needs — my palm cups his head, fingers rake his neck, both hands gloss the silken run of his back, he purrs, he nudges & paws, bares his nape to mine, flexes his claws