the wet cat

why are you so
mean to me
she says
pouting, staring out
the window at
the grey rain, the black
streets, a soaked cat
slowly slinking across
the lawn. but i'm not
mean, you tell her.
i'm aloof and distant
at times,
i'll give you that,
but there are no mean
bones in my body.
i think you
misunderstand me.
i want a cat, she says.
still looking out the window.
i know you hate cats, but
do you mind if i have
a cat. sure, you tell her,
i love cats,
why not, in fact just
to show you how nice
i am we'll go to the cat
pound and pick one
up today, just as soon
as it stops raining.
no need, she says
and goes to the door
to let the wet cat in.