The Zoomies

I look into the cat’s eyes

and he tells me there’s a storm coming.

Not the purple-black skies of

Sedona monsoons,

more the unleashed whirlwinds

of Kansas and Oklahoma.

Joey is his name,

possession is his game.

An only child for so long,

lived in microclimates of his own,

a couple of cages in 

a couple of shelters,

not having to live with

the updrafts and downdrafts 

of another pet.

But he’s here now,

cuddly with the humans,

in his forever home.

At first, not so cuddly

with Max, another tuxedo,

usually warm but sometimes 

given to a cold front,

sometimes a cyclone.

They’re fine now,

waited each  other out,

but their eyes tell me,

always just before my bedtime,

there’s a storm coming,

it’s nearly time for the zoomies.

Will it be a gale,

or is an haboob on the horizon?

Stay tuned.