Not Unaware

My cat is dying
knowing more of how to be
than to be missed not.

To be missed; not to be missed:
pick your warmest vent, to sleep.

I live to sleep warm,
to fill time not unaware
with being itself.

“Happy” is at least “happy.”
I “learn” the point of her claws.

She knows that I love her;
she knows she will fall down;
she knows I can’t catch her.