She sleeps, tiny frame tucked
in corners, on couches, in laps
not quite settled into positions
less accommodating.

Eye of the storm,
bringer of calm,
biter of ankles,
unquestioned queen
of the sitting room.

To the gentle tyrant
whose voice quiets
the violence of silence,
whose paws fill
the ache of empty days,
whose warmth provides
on nights eclipsed by loneliness,
we pay tribute.