i am not a tree

you climb up and around as if i were your private indoor tree
i tell you that i can't type when you're climbing on me
you ignore me until i plunk you down on the floor
before i can again fit the mouse into my palm, you're back

you circle my head, perch on my shoulder, to rest
or, fur against my nose, you stretch out across my chest
on command, i have become the opener of the door
on command, i have become the provider of whatever you lack

27 October 2004