Tag Archives: cat

Peeky-Kitty

Peeky-Kitty

Peeky-Kitty’s surveying all
from his nest up on the wall.
He hears the car before it enters,
then sees his mistress as she centers,
trying to avoid the case
that serves as Peeky-Kitty’s base.

Balanced there upon the shelf,
he does not deign to stir himself.
He only opens one green eye,
raising his head only nose-high
over the corner of his bed,
for he has already been fed.

Though he’s been waiting, hour on hour
here in his padded leafy bower,
his lady’s home now, finally,
and since he has no need to pee,
he’ll close his eyes and sink back, curled,
content that all’s well in his world.

This is often the sight that greets me through my windshield when I drive into my garage. In this case, Pasiano had balanced the bed of the kitties up on the  top of the storage cupboards to make room for three big garbage bags full of mother-in-law tongue plants my neighbors had weeded out of their garden and contributed to me to put down in the lot and along my front wall. At other times, they owe their lofty perch to the fact that Yolanda has swept and swabbed the tile floor and put their bed up there so it won’t get wet.

Cat and Mouse

Cat and Mouse

My cat is feeling obdurate and that is no surprise.
I see it in extended claws. I see it in his eyes.
His back is hunched into an arc. His hair all stands on end.
His lips are stretched back in a hiss, his teeth ready to rend.

When he lets go a loud remark, it sounds more like a chatter.
I look up from my magazine to see what is the matter.
The prism on the windowsill reflects a flashing gleam
and he springs into action to try to catch its beam.

Like an arrow, straight and sure, he shoots across the room,
but when he does, his target’s gone. Vanished in the gloom.
It seems his prey has vanished. It’s nowhere to be found.
He’s wasted all his energy: his speed, his stealth, his bound.

The cat door closes with a swish. He’s off to other pleasures.
Out in the sultry cloud-swathed world, he’ll resort to other measures.
He saunters by the hen house, hungry, but it’s no use
He still bears the scars of the rooster’s last abuse.

While the men are busy milking, he’ll crouch there in the dirt
hoping if he’s lucky to receive a friendly squirt.
He’ll troll the barn for mice and rats, then comb the prairie grass
for game that’s more digestible than prey that’s made of glass.

Prompt words for today are prism, scream, sultry, obdurate, letting go and cat.

Cattitude

Cattitude

The grey cat cries and cries for food, but in spite of her bitchin’,
it seems there’s naught to satisfy her in her master’s kitchen.
She would not eat the Whiskas tuna that she loved last week.
Fresh hamburger? She only deigned to have a peek.

Pork tenderloin she shuns as well as beef and cream and cheese.
A bit of gravy is another treat that does not please.
Fresh bass I bought and poached for her merely got the nose.
No mouth was closed upon it. It was not a taste she chose.

Chicken in soup with veggies? She chanced to have a taste,
then raised her nose and flicked her tail and made away in haste.
There’s canned tuna on the counter with the other four
new cat foods that I bought today at the cat food store.

I’ll try them out tomorrow, but I do not have much hope.
Chances are her majesty will only sniff and mope.
What is it with these felines that gives them attitude?
I’ve never seen the double of this old girl’s cattitude.

She awakens me at scandalous times, demanding of her feed,
then looks at me askance when I attempt to fill her need.
I fear it’s true she’s skin and bones––my fault it is supposed,
but I assure you that her fast is strictly self-imposed!!!

 

Not fiction! I made a special trip into town today in spite of my wracking cough, donned a face mask and braved Walmart. I bought fresh fish, which I abhor, for the first time in my life, along with all of the foods mentioned above and so far, she chanced one tiny bite. But, just checked and she drank all of the fresh cream I poured out for her. Her highness is satiated for the time being!

I’m linking this to dVerse Poets’ Open Link Night. See other poems HERE.

And to see their website, go HERE.

Housebound Sunbathing: A Photo A Week

Although for the past two years my 18-year-old cat Annie has refused to stir outside the house, she has recently become very enamored of lying below the low light positioned to light up the two stairs that lead up from my bedroom to the hall. I guess it is the next best thing to sunlight! Obviously, the stack of books I had laid there to remind me to take them up to the living room bookcase served as no hindrance to her comfort. (Click  on  photos  to  enlarge.)

For Nancy’s A Photo a Week Challenge.

Broken Dreams

 

Annie at 17 years old.

My seventeen year old cat, Annie, has for the past two years been awakening me at various early-morning hours to be fed. It makes no difference if I feed her at midnight or 2 am or whenever I choose to turn in for the night. At 4 or 5 or 6, her piercing yowls shock me awake and there is nothing to be done other than to get up to flop an entire can of Fancy Feast into her feeding bowl. She’s taken over my bathroom with her food and water dishes, her litter tray and her bed, so for two years I’ve showered in the guest shower. This old girl rules my world. Today’s five o’clock awakening gave rise to this poem. 

Broken Dreams

I doused my dream to greet the day, but to my great annoyance.
reality, alas, cannot compete with its flamboyance.
The dream was psychedelic and meandering in its plot.
It had all the excitement that my waking life has not.

Before the day resumes its hold, since night is not yet done,
I’ll return to my pillow and awaken to the sun.
The old cat’s fed, the dogs still sleep and so, with luck, shall I.
Perhaps I’ll find that dream again. At least, I’m going to try.

 

Annie at one month, in my headphone case.

Prompt words today are psychedelic, doused, annoy and day.