“I need to find a poetry prompt”, I said as I sipped the last bit of my 2nd cup of coffee. “It’s been a couple of weeks since Mary Lambert’s poetry prompts ended, and I need something to keep it going” Then I headed to shower. “Cinnamon Paws” she called after me. “Cinnamon Paws?” I called back to her as I ascended the short flight of steps to our bedroom. “Cinnamon Paws, what can I do with that,” I thought, as I blew my hair dry. Cinnamon Paws is nothing like an un-invented invention, a repeated phrase, or a letter to my younger self. But what did she mean by Cinnamon Paws? Our Mr. Pierre has special and rare charcoal black paws. What could she mean by Cinnamon Paws? Does she (suddenly, unexpectedly) want a kitten to go with the perfect Mr. Pierre? Dressed for work, I headed downstairs for a goodbye kiss. She was tucked-in on the purple couch in full work mode, computer on lap, 2 phones and headphone close by. Mr. Pierre was right there, cuddled & snoozing on the comfy sling chair. I rubbed his head and lifted his front paw. “What did you mean? Cinnamon Paws? His paws are black” I said as I turned his paw and rubbed the jet black paw pad. “Are you thinking about a new kitten?” “Pierre’s are Cinnamon Paws,” she said. And then, I saw, the top of the paw. Pure Cinnamon.