By Marilyn Singer

I prefer
warm fur,
a perfect fire
to lie beside,
a cozy lap
where I can nap,
an empty chair
when she’s not there.
I want heat
     on my feet
     on my nose
     on my hide.
No cat I remember
dislikes December
     inside.

I remember how I would beg my mom for a cute little cat, but sadly, I never got one but if I do get one, I know now what they like.