My Slutty, Slutty Cat

 

When I brought you home,

wow - have three years gone by?

I expected a one-person cat,

not some feline with a wandering eye.

 

And for a while you fooled me,

systematically setting the hook,

 rubbing, purring and well - just being you,

reading me like a book.

 

Yes, I played hard to get,

pretending you mattered little.

Coming and going myself,

outwardly seeming non-committal.

 

A stand-offish co-habitation,

perhaps that's why you grew bitter.

Just tepid water and dry food,

with an infrequently changed litter.

 

And all along I thought,

"The uncovered poop is pure bluster,"

a sort of "Look what I did,"

instead of all the hate you could muster.

 

But didn't I feed you on time,

put a roof over your head?

Much longer in that shelter,

you would have surely been dead!

 

And I gave you a better name,

than that ridiculous Boots.

You became proud Stella,

why seek other pursuits?

 

The first time you took off,

to my shock you were missed.

It never occurred to me back then,

you might be involved in a tryst.

 

But now it all makes sense,

you leave every chance you get.

Leaving me home sick with worry,

Oh shit - I've become the pet!

 

Many mornings now you saunter in,

hungry, demanding - not a trace of blame.

The least I expect is a little gratitude,

or some sort of Cat Walk of Shame.

 

But Oh No - not you,

you are as dismissive as ever,

giving me a casual rub on the ankle,

not contrite at all (just very clever).

 

And yet each time you return,

all is forgiven and forgot,

without even trying - literally,

you find my soft spot.

 

I suppose I've been trained,

with feigned disinterest and guile,

conditioned long and well,

with your sly, Cheshire smile.

 

So be it Damn Cat!

Do your best, do your worst.

Come and go as you please,

you have me fully coerced.