My mentor is mighty and wise.
He taught me to not wear black,
sit without looking,
and to appear uninterested when
offered the deal of the century.
My mentor made me aware
of every movement
and like him,
I spot each blowing leaf.
Full mooned spring nights beckon me.
And from him
I learned the sense of power
from hiding behind flowering plants.
His eyes are always on me.
They remind me of the obligation
accepted when I became his student.
I defend him
from accusations from those
who claim they are allergic to him.
My mentor's teaching technique is simple.
When he wants me to do something,
he just looks at me.
He seldom says anything.
But when he does,
it is so demanding that I oblige him.
He is gifted with instructional eyes.
And when I awaken,
he is looking at me
as if he hadn't been slept all night.
Without a word he lets me know what he wants.
Breakfast is his first priority .
It becomes mine.
My mentor rubs my leg when I do well.
The sound of his praise is enough
to spur me on to greater efforts.
When my morning lesson is over
he searches for a bed
with a bit of sun.
And even asleep he dominates
with head hanging off the sofa,
and legs pointed to the sky.
His posture an arrogant tribute
to control over his world.
I've thought about getting another mentor.
And he threatens
to get another student.
Such is our mutual bluff.
We are bonded.
Mentor to student
Cat to man.