A Story of Home by a Cat Named Charity

I wake up to soft sunlight warming couch leather. Alice screaming, stomping, throws a small table. Mother sighs, pats her lap, takes my pillow of feather. I try to get up—am I still able? Persisting as treats are always worth the work. I give up, Mother laughs, and moves my body feeble. I stretch out, then eye Alice trying to lurk In the shadow of the far-from-tuned piano Along with her baby stuffed elephant, Kirk. Eliza is singing; she’s a high soprano And Alice and Kirk are reaching for paint Big Brother Luca strums absently on the banjo Alice and Kirk dump dark red on white chairs quaint Eliza stops singing and turns pale as snow. I sit back, purr, and watch Father faint. I know it’s not perfect, as you can see; But to me this is home. And at home, I am me.