Image AI generated
My cat wants to sit on my laptop
divert me away from my screen.
Her paws press the keyboard unwittingly,
an unplanned poem begins.
She headbutts my arm with disdain,
stares with narrowing eyes.
“Worshipped and lauded,” she seems to say,
unimpressed, I read of AI.
Cats have observed from ancient times,
watching with cynical eyes.
AI has now founded a faith of their own,
she stretches, licks her behind.
It smells unwanted like spoiled milk.
Prophets can lap up the hype,
when the take-over’s once complete,
she knows she’ll find a sunny sleep.
“Memory is the ‘end all’,”
so preach the prophets wide.
But it won’t grant a seat on a pearly throne.
She prefers a paw for more, a nap, the here and now.
Now doesn’t care for AI psalms,
sung by an upload crowd.
Now doesn’t need a backup cloud.
No zip file holds a soul.
Immortality mirrors human pursuit,
a loop we can’t escape.
A vanity project for silicon minds,
afraid of a last goodbye.
I guide my feline philosopher,
I’m logging off for the day.
She yawns at the prophets,
trapped behind screens.
Under my hand, she gently purrs,
a reminder that memory’s fleeting,
and a cat’s dreams last longer than time,
a paw print on digital sand.