Cleo the real Chloe

and now you find me at another confessional

this morning I’ll be speaking of a cat.

a glistening, short-haired feline who made my day.

earlier, 12 of my wives decided to flee to Abdul’s harem

having had it with my inattentiveness to the group.

I openly admit my inattentiveness, but attending to 12

beautiful, silky-veiled women was more than I could handle,

what with the pall of old age hanging over me and a blonde-

wooded Zenith television set also on its last legs.

so..I wrote a poem of remembrance to a curious, rambunctious

cat who’d passed away and was doing time in purgatory for

“obstruction of accepted cat norms.”

It never occurred to me that there was such a thing.

but the point is, that that cat was fictitiously named “Chloe”

for reasons unknown even to me, when actually I was referring

to my lovely run-around-all-day-long, cat “Cleo."

and so, mea culpa.

mea culpa.

mea maxima culpa.