Winston 

My cat, appearing on this page.

Is only one, a youngish age,

The very coy-est of the coy,

Needless to say, it’s a boy.

LIke Mister Hamlet in a play,

He leads my reasoning astray.

He feigns an interest in string

In cotton balls or anything.

Unlike a dog, he does not care.

That hugs with him, I want to share,

I’m just his Mom. Why should he care?

He proves to me that on life’s walk,

It’s best to laugh while others talk.

And listen while they then regret

The gooey things they say to pets.