The poet and the cat’s breath

I am alone now, with her,
Listening to her breath, interspersed with
Soft and gentle purrs, she rests
In the basket that I bought for her, years ago
That she only started to use now she is ill
Strange how that works

She is beauty, even with the re-growing
Hair on her flanks and the strange patterns
the skin forms now it is stitched together
In an odd, completely different shape
She is remade by cancer and
She softly purrs her unawareness

She breathes a deep sigh and I worry
The listless, unwelcome feeling that seeps
Into my everything, even my irregular
Asthma-tensed breath, I cringe inside
I know how it feels to breathe
When something else fills your lungs

I sit here and listen to her breathe
And every breath is a prayer in itself
My fingers shape this poem as
A silent response, a notice that I see
The beauty that she always is, to me
Her purr calms my quiet despair

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