A Poem for Mittens

Little Cat
She sits in wait,
With gleaming eyes
Outside my gate.

Unsightly and matted
Grey and white,
Interrupts with scowls
The silence of night.

With lips parted “shoo”
I swallow with care,
For eye has met eye
In shyness and dare.

My hand and her paw
Are matched beat for beat,
An enveloping softness
I turn upwards to greet.

I swing wide the gate
No more shall she roam,
For both her and I
Have now found a home.