Enjoy this poem by Helen Bull:
"Catatonic"
There he sleeps in my favorite chair.
Does he even know I’m here?
His forepaws are crossed in a comfortable manner,
His breath is even and light.
Not a care in the world, no concern crosses his mind.
And yet …
That one blue eye is open a slit
To watch lest danger approaches I run a finger along his coat
Not a stir -
Not a hint he gives.
But, should a stray fly, mouse or bird approach
Off like lightning he goes
Performs his hunter’s duty,
And returns to sleep
in my favorite chair.