There is something almost exquisite
about silver cats.
Maybe it's the way they
crawl, languid and yet
Maybe it's the way they can turn
their paws scraping
the ground as they take
the faintest of looks.
They wear their stares without cares.
A silver cat is home to
all and none.
She hides the scars of a secret battle.
Her tears are black, her cries are deep
but in the end
she will always come back.
She knows the face of her palace.
I wonder if the silver cats have a
secret language for each other.
Sometimes I think they do but
don't want to tell us.
Their words are whistles.
For when they turn upon us, fear
they will be furious.
They have been our friends a lifetime,
the monsters we embrace.