Puurrrrowl?

Ivor speaks

He is trying to talk, this cat,
but has to settle for mimicry
of sorts. His hello is best;

warms us as we open doors
in our own house. He doesn’t bother
with goodbye, but you know

when there’s a funnyfiveminutes.
It is easy to wonder what he means
in his vocal interludes

through Eastenders. It is easy to muse
on his need for attention, the way
he stands on the crossword

or presses laptop keys with his motor
purr revving, his tail your moustache.
I think, though, meaning is beyond him.

It is only adamance, self-importance,
an assumption of understanding.
Listen harder. There is only mowwl.