A cat was climbing in the palm tree;
the black and white one, the male,
without white socks; not the one
standing on its head if you rub its ears.
It might have wanted shade. Might have been cunning.
It climbed up and then down the several trunks
with apparent research thoroughness;
and turned towards the california lilac,
which the tits love, as if it cared for flowers
as aesthetic objects. And tipped up its bottom
and waggled the whole body, but mostly
its backside; head down; intense expression.
And now it has thrown itself into
the bush, snapping blooms.
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