Murphy lion

Here lies a cat.
His name is Murphy,
so he says,
but again, he lies.

He lies with his eyes.
He lies with his smile.
He lies with his dish,
serving the deviant
and lazy imp
that drives his soul.

He lies about,
on the rug, and
on the blanket,
about his relations
with the blanket,
and his penchant
for both hard and
soft things alike.

He lies here with me,
a sphynx of contentedness
and idle motion.

Here lies my cat.