A Cat's Day (a poem)

I love cats because of their unique independent nature and desire to “rule the roost”. They can growl at you one minute and purr the next. They might ask for pets or attention one moment and then run off as soon as you reach for them. And they have their own sense of justice. They will leave little reminders around if their box needs cleaning, or they will tip over the water bowl if it seems to be too dirty for them. They know how to communicate without ever lowering themselves to a “human’s” level (haha). They make horrible demands of my time and my affection, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. My cats are all my babies and they have all been rescued from some desperate situation. Salty is the son of a cat we rescued from a snow storm a few years back. She was skinny as a rail, and you could count her ribs. We took her to the vet only to find out that she was due to deliver kittens (we couldn’t imagine where she was keeping them) within the next four weeks. The vet didn’t think the kittens would live, but as you can see by Salty’s size that he is quite healthy (as are his two brothers). Because the cats seem to have such expressive faces, I love to capture them on film in their different poses and actions. I then create a story or poem based on what I have captured on film. The cats seem to thrive on this sort of attention and Salty is no exception. On this particular day, Salty had been rather grumpy and I was reminded of how an outside cat might behave if he was in trouble (don’t ask me how that happened, it just did). Salty hasn’t been outside for some time now, but I wrote this poem as though he had been. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as enjoyed writing it.

A cat’s day

I stand on the step and scream my dislike as the neighbor boy aims his bike.

I know he’ll charge any minute now. I have to be ready, I can’t be slow.

The door remains shut tight to me. I’m in need of help, can’t she see?

Suddenly I hear the knob, it turns and clicks. The door swings wide to my pet and her stick.

The boy hits the brakes, his plot destroyed. He’ll have to think of another ploy.

I walk through the door and up to my bowl. It’s empty so I fill the room with my howl.

My pet responds like she’s supposed to do. But what is this? it looks like goo.

How dare she give me less than the best? I’ll show her I can be a pest!

I’ll scratch the chair; I’ll scratch the door. I’ll dig my claws into the floor.

Take that, and that, you’ll soon see; I don’t accept what’s not worthy of me.

Yawn, I guess that’s enough, I’ll end it here. I need to find a bed that’s near.

The pillows on her bed are soft. Good night my pet, to sleep I’m off.

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