Since she came,
the stock flies off the shelves.
She brings them in
with a twitch of her tail.
They cannot refuse.

Her eye the eye of sun.
She invisibly dances through the long, grey
Portobello afternoon.

A saucer of milk,
half a digestive,
and she knew she was home,
my devouring lady.

The books beneath
her warm body,
she does not need to read.
She knows in her teeth.

In the old days,
a killer of her kind
would face the sword, the noose,
the crucifixion tree.

I open early,
at her sunrise hour,
when her paws extend.
She yawning, like her sister
Sekhmet, who roars in a cage
in a zoo not far.

Bastet and Sekhmet,
the dark and the light.
And some of each in each.

I love my moggy goddess.
My little shop is blessed.
Even her mess
smells of the lotus.

She brings music and dance
from behind her eyes,
into the semi-silence
of my lukewarm life.

(Image Credit: https://weheartit.com/entry/30657918)