I found Edna stretched out there,
absorbing the sun.
“You look just like a cat,” I announced
and put down my armload of books.
“Do you also purr?”
“I purr when I feel like purring,” she said,
and then she produced a deliberate,
slow, mouth-open yawn.
“That’s how we yawn,” she told me,
after turning her face to the window.
“Fetch me some mice,” she added,
“and maybe I’ll purr.”
“Will you purr if I pet you?” I asked,
leaning over the window seat
and touching her hair.
“Cats have to be in the mood.
Now go back to shelving your books
– –
