Category Archives: Cats & Dogs

Cattails

Click on photos to enlarge.


Dogs and Cats

My dogs are fun and gnarly and love to leap and play.
Often their wild antics are the climax of my day.
They love to solve dilemmas such as who is passing by
by raising choruses of barks and howls up to the sky.
But when it comes to relaxation, my kitties take the cake.
Their main activity, the patterns that their cattails make.

For Zoe’s response to this subject, go here: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/illgm2yxMfg

Prompts today are cattail, climax, dilemma, cake, gnarly .

Conversing with the Enemy

I usually only post to prompts, but I can’t resist posting this photo of Kukla and Diego. There doesn’t seem to be much animosity between them, but if she were to jump down on “his” side of the fence, a chase would certainly occur.  Gates and walls make for a peaceable kingdom.

Fatal Wonder

Fatal Wonder

Where’s that naughty kitty been?
Even though it’s nearly ten,
she’s not had a single nibble
of the tuna and the kibble
that I put outside the door
long ago—two hours or more.
If dead from curiosity,
she’s passed her illness onto me!  

For dverse Poets Quadrille Challenge: Curious

Animal Voices

 

 

IMG_5073 3

 

Animal Voices

My cat is very subtle, so I named her Innuendo.
Not so for the dogs, who always speak in a crescendo.

When they feel romantic, cats may wail an eerie tune,
but dogs need no testosterone to prompt their nightly croon.

Cats vocalize for grand events. Dogs blather on at small things:
a squirrel on the garden wall–literally all things.

Every passing siren causes canine howls to bloom.
They seem to herald catastrophe–to signal the world’s doom.

If cats should chance to dream a tune, they keep it in their bosom,
but I think dogs release their songs simply to amuse ’em.

dsc07914

Word prompts today are: innuendo, bloom, bosom, blather and tune.

Rude Awakening: Morning Ritual

 

IMG_9293

“The duende, then, is a power, not a work. It is a struggle, not a thought. I have heard an old maestro of the guitar say, ‘The duende is not in the throat; the duende climbs up inside you, from the soles of the feet.’ Meaning this: it is not a question of ability, but of true, living style, of blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous creation … everything that has black sounds in it, has duende.”

Rude Awakening: Morning Ritual

The duende of the old cat’s wail jars me from a dream.
Her volume grows with every piercing, throaty, grating scream.
And though it seems her hunger cannot wait for light,
when I spoon out her victuals, she does not take a bite.

IMG_4226

I rub her ears and skull and chin now that I’m awake
as the first muted rays of light soak into the lake.
The dogs detect my movement and paw their haven’s door,
scraping their metal dishes across the tile floor.

IMG_6035

Outside the far-off kitchen, the young cats voice their wail,
calling me too early to my day’s travail.

IMG_5958.jpg

Reluctantly I slog out to fulfill their rude request,
as the old cat circles and sinks to her warm nest.

IMG_6414.jpeg

Since her breakfast, still untouched, sits crusting in her bowl,
it seems that desayuno never was her goal.
She’s merely been the chanticleer who has done her best
to arouse the world before returning to her rest.

Prompt words today are victualsduende, volume, awake.

3:30-5:10 A.M.

Click on first photo to enlarge all and see slide series.


3:30-5:10 A.M.

The calicos are crazy,
my bed a high hill in their racetrack 
that seems to extend down the long hall
from the  living room to here and back.  
They barrel over the bedclothes, over me,
leap to the desktop, rattling the glass case of a 
pre-Columbian clay jug.
The white cat lies serenely licking against my side,
then rises to knead my breast with sharp claws,
nibble fingers as I type.le,∑ß`099w≥. (Her added comment.)
The grey cat has brought something to my bed––a masticated mouse, perhaps.
Quickly, I cover it with the comforter to save it from the cat,
who careens on into another adventure.

I pull back its shroud, dreading what I will reveal,
to find half of the cover of my Xtech Card reader.
From the computer beside me, its guts still hang connected,
the SD card from my new camera still inside.
This is the last time the young cats sleep inside!

 

For Cee’s Which Way challenge..Which Way? Down the hallway and across the bed:

Typical

Typical Day

Bark of dog,
Meow of cat.
Mama-san
takes care of that
with pop of can
and clink of dishes.
After solving
all these wishes,
back to bed.
Write my blogs.
Out of bed.
Put on togs.
Make a smoothie.
Read E-mail.
Into town
for writers’ meetings.
Lots of words
and lots of greetings.
Home again
to write some more.
Pepe’s ringing
at my door.
Once a week
a heavenly rub.
Body restored,
soak in the tub.
Pat the cats,
throw balls for Morrie.
Write some more,
the same old story.
Talk to Dux
many a time
throughout the day.
Sometimes  with rhyme.
Midnight finds me
in the pool
under stars
and Morrie’s rule.
Throw the ball
for him to fetch.
Exercise, then
reach and stretch
to retrieve the ball
he throws at me.
Then loft it over
bush and tree
to lower garden
for him to find.
This is our nightly
pool grind.
Go in to bed
to write some more.
Get up to check
I’ve locked the door.
Other events
often occur.
Trips to the vet
to trim or cure.
Coffee with friends,
or dinner out.
trips to the shore,
without a doubt.
Lives grow and change
often with time.
So this is just
the paradigm.

The prompt word today is typical.

Annie’s World (At the Beach)

Annie Goes on a Beach Vacation

To read the poem that goes with these photos as well as to enlarge the photos, you must click on the first photo and then on each arrow on the right hand margin of each photo. If you are viewing via Facebook, you won’t see all the photos or the captions/poems unless you click on my URL or the name of my blog first. Facebook only shows a few of the photos unless you do this.

This post is for forgottenman, who asked for it!

 

Cat Napped

IMG_1990Kittens reacting to Morrie and Diego, jealousy barking at the closed gate that separates them from their arch rivals, the cats.

Cat Napped

My dear little creatures, I did not expect
that your lives and mine would intersect.
I didn’t know in the hush of my life
your antics would make such a mush of my life.

I spout silly names like “kitty” and “baby.”
Have I gone dotty? I must admit, “Maybe.”
I’m given to lying prone on my bed
letting the boy kitten claw at my head,

combing my hair with his kittenish claws
as his sisters cavort without mercy or pause,
biting my fingers and licking my knees.
I let them assault me wherever they please.

I find them adorable and entertaining.
Besotted with kittens, my interest is waning
in matters less feline. I neglect the dogs.
Leave them to possums and squirrels and frogs.

I feed them and throw an occasional ball,
but lately, obsessions more easily fall
into matters of cat, I’m embarrassed to say
it’s entirely possible one day I may

turn into that cat lady, brunt of those jokes
told by low-lifes in bars and other brash blokes
making fun of those who, although different, perhaps,
get pleasure enough from cats on our laps!!!

 

The prompt word today is expect.