When I am not at home, my cat tries on my clothes: She dresses up, puts on airs, wants to be human.
Pushkin pulls up my black silk slip, edged with antique lace. As she struts, she feels the slit on the side, pushes through it, moves on.
She nudges open my jewelry box to find pearls, bracelets, and lots of earrings, which her ears are too tender to wear. She slides my abandoned wedding ring up her front left paw. On her, it looks like the armband of a warrior woman.
Then, searching for music that will stir her soul, Pushkin presses the buttons on the stereo. Soon, she is dancing in the moonlight streaming through the window. Her claws ache with a primal need, scratch my furniture, seeking relief, needing to be worn down.
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Anne Kelly-Edmunds is a freelance writer who enjoyed her long-time stint as magazine editor and feature writer. A poet and fledgling artist, Anne facilitates creative writing and healing workshops. She lives on Long Island, NY, with her husband Leland and their three cats: Pushkin, Apache and Morgan.
Anne can be reached at: email@example.com