It is not my wallet and keys that I worry about;
I will always find those things eventually.
It's the ideas that I should keep chained to my belt;
The 4 am epiphanies that would fix my story,
fix my life, fix my computer, fix my name in the stars!
Those evaporate into the velvety darkness,
Lost dreams that flutter against the windows,
Sweet escape from the grey mists of my thoughts,
Only to get caught and then eaten by the cat.
Though he never vomits the ideas on the rug.
I like to think he's keeping them for me,
Tucked away in his fur against my hour of need,
Purr and play memory, my furry little thumbdrive.
Or a girdle book, its tail tucked in my belt,
Like a medieval student of forgotten classics,
Trying to remember his Latin declensions
Felix, Felis, Feli, Felem...
Oh, but that's not right, I've more than one!
More cats and dreams and ideas and schemes,
In the dark watches when the stars are high,
And whispering cats hunt the laggard thoughts,
The next idea, the new idea, THE BIG IDEA!
Pounced and purred and knocked under the bed
For a furry dragon to sleep atop a magpie's hoard
Of dustbunnies and half-remembered dreams.