Cats
Devious, sinuous, warily walking
creatures of night and alone in their quests
leaping so lightly and silently stalking
mice in their hideouts and birds in their nests;
tail-tips a-twitching in anticipation
eyes all aglow in the moon's eerie light
whiskers a-quiver and ears at attention
waiting to pounce and to seize and to bite.
Soft and adorable, languidly lazing
velvety pawed and appealing of face
pictures of innocence, quietly purring
stretching and yawning with infinite grace;
silkily smooth, or a bundle of fluffiness,
ebony, chocolate, tabby or white;
touching our faces with exquisite tenderness,
mummy's sweet darling, and daddy's delight.
And always they wear such an air of sweet mystery -
what's going on in the minds of our cats?
Do they remember their family history -
Goddess of Egypt, Destroyer of Rats,
Witches familiar or friend of czarina,
quaintly adorning a family crest?
Is that why they walk with such haughty demeanour -
they know, of all creatures, they're clearly the best?
08/2001
A Tale of Unrequited Love.
He's black as coal; black as night;
she's most definitely white.
He hangs around outside her house
shy and timid as a mouse
hoping that one day she may
cast a loving glance his way.
Like some lost soul he follows her
Nothing, nothing can deter
this his never ending quest:
not wind, not rain, nor need of rest.
But does she care? No, she does not
she really doesn't give a jot.
She glares at him and walks on by
unconcerned, her head held high.
Oliver, for that's his name,
keeps on trying just the same
Though she goes on shunning him
his love-light never seems to dim.
Does his passion sound too sordid?
Will his patience be rewarded?
Why oh why can he not see
that she only cares for me.
Oliver is doomed to pine -
Her faithful, feline heart is mine.
July 01
Unrequited Love II
The Sequel
Oliver has competition
Willow has another beau
now there’s two of them to deal with
- that will keep her on her toes.
This one is a recent caller
I don’t even know his name
but he looks a lot like Felix
so that’s what I’m calling him.
Both of them now sit there waiting
caterwauling day or night
meanwhile Willow just avoids them
tries to scurry out of sight.
Going out is getting crazy
trying to avoid these guys
Willow walks sedately by me
desperation in her eyes.
How can she perform her duties
with two fellas on her case?
Maybe she should be provided
with her own small can of mace!
Famous people have their stalkers
now it seems we have them, too
what next - feline paparazzi?
Really, what’s a cat to do?
© 2002
Winter Nights
Every year about this time
a change occurs within my bed:
my cat decides the nights are cold
and joins me underneath the covers
snuggles round my legs and ankles
- warmer mights she's round my head.
Even when she's twitching, dreaming
I don't mind her being there
for I love the sweet sensation
of my skin against her fur.
So I try to keep quite still
for every movement makes her murmur
yawn and stretch and change position
moving round my legs so gently
but it's not an imposition
for her nice warm furry body
sensuously soft and silky
feels deliciously delightful
on my legs and on my feet.
I need no hot water bottle
Willow's presence is a treat.
Jan 2002
Willow
I'm having a problem with Willow.
She's a very endearing cat,
but I cant keep her out of the bedroom.
It's an awkward one, is that.
It's bad enough when I go to bed
that I have to fight for space
but now she's fallen in love with my man
and lies on him, face to face.
Three in a bed can be fun I'm told
but not when one of the three
is a feline in love with your lover.
Why can't she leave him to me?
© June 2003
Laptop Cat
I have a cat; I call her Willow.
Willow thinks of me as Pillow
til she fancies something canned,
then I'm Slave, at her command.
At night she sleeps upon my bed
where I support her paws and head.
By day she commandeers my lap:
a comfy place to take a nap.
It's hard to say just who's in charge.
Although we're partners, by and large,
I know my place; I'm just the mat
beneath my lazy laptop cat.
© 2006
Morning
Drowsily drifting,
slowly gaining consciousness;
gentle pressure on my chest,
swansdown-soft upon my face.
Gathering strength and fortitude
I prise unwilling lids apart,
persuade reluctant eyes to focus.
Blearily I peer at
the face which hovers over me,
nose to nose, breath on breath,
where eyes of bright pistachio
gaze earnestly, compellingly,
with mystic mesmerising force.
Willow wants her breakfast.
©2006
In My Face
Do you have to be quite so in my face
encroaching upon my personal space?
There's close, my sweet, and closer yet
but this is as close as you can get!
I know it's concern when you smell my breath
to see if I'm on the brink of death,
that you're there to feel the beat of my heart,
to be sure I'm not about to depart.
I appreciate that and I'm not fickle
but, heavens, how your whiskers tickle!
06/2010
The Passing Years
Willow is getting old,
something that comes to all of us.
Sixteen now, yet with all her lives,
slowed down a bit by aching joints
a bit less sprightly - but so am I -
and massage help her spine.
Thyroid trouble means so many pills
which she takes without a fight
and she hardly ever goes out at night
preferring the warmth of me or my bed.
No lovers there now for her to hijack,
those days are long gone now,
it's just her and me for company;
it's enough at our time of life.
At times I'd swear she's becoming confused,
dementia setting in perhaps,
waking me at unearthly hours with
little idea of what she wants,
standing meowing, meowing, meowing...
She dreams more in her sleep now,
twitching, making all manner of sounds,
waking blearily, making me smile.
More loving, closer, more talkative,
but more demanding too.
A mixed blessing, yes, at times
as I get less able myself
but when she goes, as go she must,
she'll leave a very empty place,
a silence, a coldness,
that nothing else can fill.
2013.
