Sandy is a muted calico ―
tan fur above her eyes and gray
below, flank a white nose.
She has an “I need you” look.

When she purrs to wake me,
I have to get up. She goes out.
I make coffee. Then she returns
to lead me to the bathroom.

During my shower she stares
through the glass door and
meows at the top of her voice.
It doesn’t sound like singing.

I finally decide she’s just a
Democrat, critiquing my work:
“you missed a spot, scrub that
hind leg, get between the toes.”

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