I am not quite rooted in reality,
and yet you seem to be
a little fond of me all the same.
You call your cat Bast, after the Egyptian,
and she subscribes to that mythology.
Likewise, if I show up with Athena's owl borrowed upon my shoulder,
you are keen to hold her and to tell her how fine she obviously is.
The only ring we are ever going to have
is the one made of silver light upon your bedroom floor,
where Bast curls up with her lunatic dreams.
Athena's owl asks for a bed post perch, and never the slightest thing more.
I am not quite rooted in reality, and yet
you always forgive me and share your room,
where my only wish is to be with you
and dance by the light of the moon,
together by the light of the moon.
I have referenced, of course, Edward Lear's "The Owl & The Pussycat" for Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads.
Re: the picture up top: when I was little, every day I would pretend I was some kind of different animal or bird, so much so that the man next door started asking me "What are you today?" I'm an adult now, though, and besides, everyone knows I'm a cheetah. ;-)