Watch the cat process music like love

He gets up out

of the recliner

slowly, with

both purpose

and age falling

off his shoulders.

He takes the

guitar off the stand

with his left hand

on the neck

transfers the weight

to his right as he

slides the butt

end of the strap

between his thumb

and index finger

nimbly up and

over his shoulder

adjusting the left

side of the strap

up from the

strap pin across

his chest as the

old telecaster comes

to rest naturally against

his hip and lower

stomach with that

familiar feeling

of the solid maple

against his

skin and bones

as he pivots like

a young man walks

the three steps back

to the recliner and

turning again backs

into it gently, sits down

with his trusted

instrument on his

lap fret fingers

in the shape of

G major high on

the neck cowboy

chord style while

his bare right index

finger slowly begins

flicking down across

the strings the nail

gnarled and worn

funny.

The cat watches

from the far side

of the sofa his tail

an enchanted snake

moving up and back

to the melody

of the Grateful Dead

tune the man is

playing the name

of which the cat is

ignorant of

not knowing

why or how those

vibrations in the air -

converted into electrical

signals by the cochlea’s

tiny hairs - appeal to him

like the purr of the lean

tortie female sitting

under the window

outside just a few

feet away.