When Tootsie walks.

When Tootsie walks,
It is said,
“She’s your cat…”
I look to see it.

The sway in her tail,
Taking her time,
Side to side.
She is sweet,
She es la diabla.
She is without a doubt,
The finest,
En la ciudad.

Pero,
Ella es dulce como el azúcar,
(Y me tienes atado a tu corazón).

También,
She enjoys the finest music,
Fado, jazz, classical.
Brunch on the mezzanine.
Nothing less,
Than a foam firm pad,
With a faux fur blanket,
Complimentary.

She’s on a quest for a sun patch,
Where she will bask for hours,
In no hurry to any call.
When she talks, however,
She insists,
Her melodious voice,
You hear it loud and strong.

When she decides to receive,
Attention,
It will be,
What she thinks she wants,
Until you tell her otherwise.

Then she looks so sweetly,
Up to you,
Waiting for more,
Of that kind of affection,
Leaning in,
Hoping you never stop.

She sleeps quietly,
Lurks in the dark,
Then wraps up into you,
Connecting to the deepest,
Part of you.
Then early morning,
She awakes,
Purring, rubbing,
Waking you up,
Insisting you notice her for a while.

Tootsie’s my cat,
I can see it.
Though, I think,
She’s quite misbehaved.
My spirit animal.
Maybe she’s mine,
Imprinted,
Souls intertwined.
Two sugar-sweet,
Seductive,
Bewitching felines.

A cat’s love series.