Late Night Conversation with Blackie, a Cat

i am typing. he curls on the dining room table
in the warm and purring exhaust of the laptop;
closes his eyes and disappears into his fur. being a cat,
his ears remain open and listening. so i begin

with simple questions. are you fooled by the string?
where do you go when you leave in the night?
do you feel remorse for the birds you have killed?
easy stuff. desultory. but talk as always turns

to the importance or not of history
to the need or not for shouldering those
responsibilities that interfere with joy.
to whether cats even feel emotion, or if emotion

is just the residue that coats our human nerves when we are
untrue to ourselves. he doesn't say so directly, but
his stillness implies that i being human feel sorrow,
pride, happiness, love and hate all alike

only because i act outside my nature. he tucks his nose
beneath his tail, which is of course to say

be who you are. do what you do.
all these feelings fade only if you let them.
this search for joy upsets you just as surely
when you find it as when you fail.

and then, although it is hard to be quite certain with cats,
he falls asleep.