My Cat Knocks Over the Perfume

And now my desk, alive with apricot-jasmine-tea,
refuses dreary tasks - the cat has dressed it up
in sticky notes and shiny tacks, paper clips dangling
from an open drawer, a smear
of Wite-Out winking. This cat's all freesia
and freedom. She's not just thinking sachet,
but away, away - sashay, as she glides
down the stairs - no work today. She's translucent.
She's dear, and furthermore, she's out of here.
Gone now,
till after dusk, strutting the streets in search
of leather and musk. That's it, I say in the morning
She only rubs a scented paw behind her
ear and yawns so wide I see her missing tooth
So much for beauty. So much for truth.