Kitty Computer Station

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Hooman #A and I
return to our home,
or what we thought
was our home, except

what we see
when we open
the front door

is the living room abuzz
with lights glinting from
computers wired together
like an aughts LAN party,

and our six cats, plus
the all-new kitten, Lahea,
sit nobly on single-story
cat stands they ordered
with my credit card
from Amazon,

away at keyboards
thanks to the furry,
thumb-enabled gloves
they've strapped onto
their hands. At first,
of course, I want to
call their hands
their arms

but when I see them
sitting upright like
bipedal tiger-men,
tiger-women, and

their eyes glittering
with intelligence
I'd never guessed
in them before,

how do I continue
to refer to their limbs
like I'm living with
mere house cats?

Hooman #A looks to
Lahea first, tabby kitten,
then Philosopher Jones,
long-haired, black, in charge,
and Phoebe, silvery
like a cyborg princess,
and DeeJAY, a tabby
in an army-print tux,

and on the other side
of the room, Tom, a tux
cat in an all-natural suit,
and. Greg, a tabby draped
in gold necklaces,
next to Buttercup,
quietly mixing potions
like the mad torty she is,

then Hooman #A asks,
"Where's the couch?"

I frown, retorting,
"That's your concern?"

We survey our living room,
shelves now filled with
alien feline literature,
the PlayStation 4
converted into one
of their desktop computers,

the walls lined
with glass tubing
that carries plasma
from outlets
to flip-phone devices
tucked in Target cubbies
next to Philosopher Jones,
DeeJAY, and blinged Greg,

our home
completely converted into
Feline Society #337's
galactic hub.


First & second drafts: September 18

Word count: 294

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