I love it when this sort of thing happens – to me or someone else.

I thought my handbag was the cat.

Under the desk
on the sheepskin,
while I worked at my writing
she slept,
keeping me company,
keeping my feet warm,
helping me think
and connect.

I kicked her and said sorry.
I looked under the desk
to murmur kind words
and stroke her.

The bag stared blankly back.

Puss, meanwhile,
was busy with a bird.

The cat door clacked
and in she came
and lay on my keyboard
with feathers and blood
and purred.