Four paws and Imagination

As a lonely child,

I would tap on the glass of his cage.

I called him “Picasso”.

I imagined that he could paint teeny tiny pictures

Only in a way that his mini paws could do.

Behind his nose and whisker mask,

To me, was the ghost of artist’s past.

With his stubby tail and sharpened nails,

Baby bear ears and logical cat fears,

He was the reincarnation,

My fluffy ball of silent friendship.

My 20th century art sensation.