When I write poetry, either of my two cats always stay close, sometimes touching a key near my hands at the computer keyboard. When I read, in my big wing chair, the Orange cat, Charlie, settles at my feet. You may remember him from my poem "Without Thinking," when he dashed out at about 5:30, past Chiquita Banana's feet, and was missing for three days, probably locked in someone garage. I love cats.

Hi all, Martin