T.

Last night my ancient, edging-towards-dementia cat
decided to venture down to the family room
for the first time and sit beside me on the couch.
All was peaceful until Sally, the resident cat,
decided to sit in front of aging-Alice and stare
at her. (Not growl, not hiss: simply stare.)
Alice would have none of this. She decided to leap
up quickly into a defensive position and in the process
hooked two claws in my sweater, on my arm.
In her panic, she couldn't release her claws,
and began literally to scream, all the while
flailing like a marlin on the end of a fishing line.
I knew that if I tried to undo her claws she'd
go tooth-and-nail into me, and I didn't want
to risk a nasty cat bite. What to do?!!!!
In my own rising panic I decided to strip off my sweater,
which left Alice swaddled in black cotton,
yet did nothing to assuage her agitated state.
But I was free! And puncture free!
She eventually settled down, hunkered behind the TV.
And why is it I have cats?