I am Bagheera
watching you stumble
out of a dreary meeting
at corporate headquarters

You eye me with that gleam
a toddler’s oblivion
my coat wields deception
and you fall for my wiles

I amble along the jagged brush
the thistles and trees –
foliage of a metropolitan jungle
that never really was

So abruptly, you arrive
pencil-skirted girl
your makeshift Nikon
your homage to Apple

She’s squealing and kneeling
I’m happy to oblige
happy to stop, stand still
for the easily amused

And she speaks of me like some lost fossil
but this isn’t Iriomote Island, my love
she speaks as of worshiping a stone-carved panther
stone-cold phantom, I assure you, I am

*Cat No. 5 of the 500 Cats Project