A row of skeletons,
they punish those who are different,
turn them into exiled vagabonds.

They sit and grin to themselves
like slinky, self-satisfied cats.
But, to me, the others are purrfect.

The feral felines find me irritating,
for I look like them,
but I do not feel or act as they do.

I care not for counting calories.
Designer labels and fashion trends
don’t interest me in the least.

My fur is honest and warm
and I prefer the free lines.
I am happiest there.

Like ailurophiles, the others wished to be
more like those attenuated kittens.
But, because of me, they now see how ridiculous that is.

I know of the hours spent
staring at reflective surfaces,
trying to look more than purrfect.

They worry, those gaunt pussy cats;
their weight, their clothing, their makeup.
But we others have removed ourselves
from this unsatisfying chaos.

We have realized the lack of necessity
for such corporeal means.
We are at ease in our unburdened serenity.