Paper and pen, br a poem to write, br until a white claw, br grabs the pen from my hand. br I pull the pen towards me, br towards him, he, pulls too, br shaking his whiskers, br narrowing his eyes, bright blue. br The pen flies rolling br along the floor, br my cat runs for it, br and so I run for both. br Some deep thoughts, br my poem meant to reflect, br but my cat, br a true fine poet, br managed to write this poem, br in his own way.