There were no fretfull days
No weeks or hours of troubled reflection.
Did I eat too much, or drink to excess?
What of the clay,
which those with finesse called "litter"?
It was no crime to soak up sun at the patio door,
or rub the four corners of my world to mark it safe,
And,
a purr was sifficient
to justify the space I used,
and the joy I shared.