Mornings

The lightest,
almost languorous touch
of a black velvet sheath
would begin it,
exploring the air,
stretching and extending sharp claws,
declaring it morning.

The briefest of velvet caresses
before the paw jostled,
the claws took hold,
and there’d be no respite
until I rose
to prepare breakfast.

Mornings begin
more peacefully now,
but who would choose
to be without
the purring,
questioning invitation,
without velvet?