Cat, enough of your greedy whining and your small pink bumhole

Winter. Time to eat fat

and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,

a black fur sausage with yellow

Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries

to get onto my head. It’s his

way of telling whether or not I’m dead.

If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am

He’ll think of something. He settles

on my chest, breathing his breath

of burped-up meat and musty sofas,

purring like a washboard. 

[...]

Cat, enough of your greedy whining

and your small pink bumhole.

Off my face! You’re the life principle,

more or less, so get going

on a little optimism around here.

Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.

Margaret Atwood 

Ur dikten "February" från samlingen Morning in the Burned House från 1995. Hela dikten går att läsa HÄR på Poetry Foundation.

Fotot föreställer Margaret Atwood och hennes katt Fluffy och är taget av Evelyn Floret.