Cats in Springtime - An Idle Yawn

They scale the cabinets,
clinging like mountaineers.
They make confetti of paper towels.
They are drawn by the subtle
lure of toes beneath blankets.
They run relays through the house,
purring, frantic, nowhere to go.
They sit, tense as mousetraps,
before sunny windows.
A harsh wet tongue in your ear,
they wake you
to check the time.

Two weeks to go yet, by the sun, but
I'm counting in cat hours.

A fearful crash in the dark,

a cat springs from
an ironing board in
desperate flight

from the idle of winter

to the dizzy adventure
of dusty heights unreached
by cat paws before.

Sleep returns
more slowly than cats
in springtime.