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My Cat and Shostakovich

by  Brian Aird

Posted: Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Word Count: 103




Softly she purrs
slowly the music builds
inside I feel the composers anguish
yet softly I stroke her fur
the room is full of violins and passion
she turns and licks my hand
crashing cymbals stir the air
a crescendo breaks free
I feel her claws gently prick my skin
a poignant piano is heard in the now still air
my eyes moisten
I feel as if I'm flying with the music,
above the world of care.
She shakes her head and looks at me
her green eyes questioning.
Without warning she leaps for the cat flap
and enters the cold outside air.