Yet another poem

She sits on the arm of the old leather chair
Her two yellow eyes kept locked on the gate
For someone some day will be turning in there
She doesn't forget and she knows how to wait.

She yawns and she has a good wash till her coat
Is a shining example of ebony fur
Though I cuddle her close there's a faraway note
And an absence of mind in the tone of her purr.

Her kitten comes stalking & leaps on her tail
But carries such antics a trifle too far
For temper in wartime is apt to be frail
And the frolic ends up in a family jar.

Of waiting & hoping she's doing her share
And I've made up my mind unreluctantly that
When somebody sits in the old leather chair
I'll leave one of his knees for the little black cat.

(Parts of the last verse are very faint pencil, but I think that is what is written.)
Undated.