What the Cat Typed

I jolt awake in the dark.
Well, it would be dark except my computer,
as have I, has come out of sleep mode.
It’s making that rapid repetitive dull sound,
of a key being held down by a kitty paw.
Yes, when I forget to shut down my computer,
my cat types at midnight, or 2:00 a.m,
or any time of the day or night when inspiration moves her.
I rise to peruse what she’s drafting.
You never know when you might stumble across a magnum opus.
She has typed the letter “r” one or two thousand times,
her manuscript a long block of perfect “r”s,
evidencing that this is all work and no play on her part.
“Marie,” I ask, “what’s the name of this masterpiece,
the cacophonous production of which has roused me from slumber?”
She lets up on the typing as I pry her with some effort from the keyboard.
“I call it,” she says, “What the Dog Said.”
“Brilliant,” I say. “I may have to borrow the idea from you.”
She licks her paw meditatively, eyes me, flexes her claws,
and I am duly forewarned that I will pay in blood
should I attempt to appropriate her intellectual property.

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