I have often watched my sweet kitty sleep,
seen her whiskers twitch and sigh so deep.
The thought crosses my mind each time,
what images frequent her thoughts and mind?
Perhaps she dreams of the golden sun,
warming her belly till it’s nearly overdone.
Maybe she’s bird watching with her glassy eyes closed,
crouching and stalking, so as not to be exposed.
Or sleeping on a pillow nestled next to my head,
climbing bookcases early morning, much to my dread.
Playing with toy mice, batting and pouncing,
and voicing hunger, her loud meow announcing.
But, I wonder too if she’s haunted by the past,
her life as a shelter animal, an unwanted outcast.
A cold cage of uncertainty is no place for a kitty to live,
yet millions, just like Stella, are unwillingly captive.
So each time she awakens I remind her she’s lovely,
and promise to make up for those who treated her wrongly,
with sunny windows, and bird watching, toy mice, and a soft pillow,
hoping that for other kitties, a forever home will come tomorrow.