reportage from the front

She's been super-bolty
hidey and leery of me
the whole time
I've been wintering in N.J. 
It is her house, not mine after all.
I defer. 
A woman of her species
must have her way.

However, I came down
from the attic/loft to get coffee
and a smoke. Per usual, she froze
fast a safe distance off. Next she'll flash
to gone - but no! She's paused, so

I hunker down
on my haunches
and extend my hand
making thumb-circles on
index and middle, going
"psssh-psssh-psssh-psssh!"
(as one does)
She's so beautiful. 

Deep matte black
in which light just
vanishes lost, with
tall boots and mittens
of white, and a white museau
with the pale pinkest nose.

She's padding over
now to my outstretched hand 
to see what I'll do to her finery,
oh what a lover of cats 

I sometimes am. Anyway, 
they think so. She's throwing 
herself in press, press, press, circle-whirl,
press-press! Lowering the boom of her head
in my ribs or chest each time, coming in
with emphasis. Her tail-jazz magnificent,
her purr like pigeon coos! She wants ALL
the pets, and then on and so on to head scratches
and long strokes of eagerly-resisting tail. I really
couldn't stop, she was too enthused. Her fur
feels glossy, so deep you could flail lost
and found in it.  

My heart broke with love
and a recognition of
how easily-manipulated we humans are
by any being who breaks standoffishness,
who lets wary, leery indisposition drop
to deign to receive our flawed human 
love, and continue as if neither one 
would stop.  

Then gone, like that. Now gone,
like this. I just had
the most extraordinary experience
petting a cat.