Valentine’s Day dreams

This entry is part 21 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

First an opossum crawls into our bed.
He’s tame, you cry.
Those are just love-bites.

Then it’s a long-haired white cat,
purring and snuggling.
Get her out of here, you groan.

I wake to a heavy snowfall,
the old dog statue in the yard
just a bump under the blanket.


Right after drafting this poem, I found out that Rachel’s (short-haired) white cat in London was killed last night. RIP Mario.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

2 Comments


  1. Thank you Dave. I’m more upset than I imagined would be possible in the circumstances. Poor Mario. He died, as he lived, a back-garden fighter. And thank you Jean. You too have (literally!) felt his embrace.

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