What is happiness?
It’s sitting in the comfy chair in the reading nook, next to you while you work away at your desk. It’s our pup laying behind your chair, chewing his favorite toy, completely at peace. It’s our baby girl, purring away sitting on the ottoman next to my feet.
Happiness isn’t money or the nicest things the world has to offer.
Happiness is your kind and loving heart, loving me forevermore.
She slinks through the apartment
like a predator
a mouse-killer on the prowl
a scowl on her feline face
little Olivia, our baby girl
she’s a cute kitty, but
she’s also a cold-blooded killer.
Note: This poem is about our cat, Olivia. She’s the cutest little kitty, and also an excellent mouser!
The woman sits at the window
she’s always there, she stares
at the outside world
her sallow skin a testament to an indoor existence
terrified to leave the ivy-covered house like
a cat that fears and is fascinated by the outdoors.
“What you have, my friend, is a soul sickness.”
He appeared quite serious, pulling on the hairs of his bushy white mustache, and sipping from a cup of tea in the old office building he’d converted into his business space, known as, “Bill’s Spiritual Counseling.”