curly or straight,
cat whiskers perform many roles,
such as stirring milk on a plate.
As cocktail sticks they serve pate.
As antennae they detect drafts.
They tickle human noses as morning alarms,
collect cobwebs we cannot see,
measure widths in which to slither,
bloom with love, or with fear – retreat.
Polished from months of sandpaper-tongue scrubbings,
they wave broken tips from battles won.
Sleek pins from furry cushions are cast
becoming our four-leaf-clover finds.
Perhaps they serve as string for a fairy’s fiddle,
the ones that are left behind.