Cats in the Snow

Mittens made the winter melt,
It never suspected such a soft magic.
But while the moon slept,
Armies of imprints assembled around my doorstep.
I ushered them in with promises of warm soymilk,
And perhaps a scratch or two
Behind the most tender of places,
Well-protected by thread upon thread,
Grown from a living root
With a base of quiet contemplation,
Well-mixed with the knowledge that only our friends can have.

The soft padding of furred feet on the snow
Slowly marched into my dreams,
And without too much ado,
Curled up against my back and slid off
Into a well-earned,
Well-deserved sleep.