…very little ears and a sweetly strange personality. Sometimes Ninnie comes down from the attic where she plays with lizards
and sits on my desk or telephone
until she falls onto my lap
or rolls onto the floor
or just tries to grab my attention.
She prefers to read sideways
but I draw the line when she tries to remove typos with her claws.
A cat Serpent’s Tail poem for the OctPoWriMo prompt.
What can I say about the cat
that shares this home,
roams at will
until hunger brings her in?
Winter cold resistant,
insistent, she claims her right to walk,
stalk the night,
bright eyes light the way.
Daytime, she sits for hours,
scours thickets and hedge,
edging ever closer to small prey.
Says the dog, you’ll never change her,
feather-brain but quick,
thick as river mud but fast,
last to leave the chase.
Brace yourself to wait,
late, for there she’ll squat.
I don’t know what kind of birds the Lidl forest bird seed is intended for, but our birds won’t eat either the black or yellow seeds. Proof, there’s a carpet of bright green shoots poking through the empty husks of sunflower seeds. Good thing Trixie likes it.
rejected bird seed
sprouts—nothing is wasted
Today is world otter day. I don’t know any otters, but this little cat, daft as a brush, a sandwich short of a picnic, bonkers, batty and totally à l’ouest as we say over here, is as sweet as any sea otter.
flowers, not yet sun-woken,
sleep, but birds fill the tree
her gaze fixed,
not on bright, darting feathers,
but on the deer
high-stepping along the stream,
dreaming of the taste
of fur and hot blood.
A different window for the dverse prompt
A piece of jungle beneath my window lies,
Dappled fauve in the afternoon heat.
Sleepy eyes watch with thinly veiled contempt
The disjointed movements of our graceless rush,
As regal, he drapes the cobblestones
With languid pelt of ocelot mottles
And spits in the eye of fawning hounds.
I wish him well on his wanderings
And all the luck the skies will lend.
Courage he has to spare,
To battle the monsters our unfriendly city sends.
Keep safe, run swift, remember home,
Little Ulysses of the streets.
This quadrille is for dverse. The word to include is ‘flicker’, and it is inspired by our little blue cat, the first of our Bordeaux cats to die, very young and unexpectedly.
Photo ©La Rose Tueuse
Once you were quicksilver,
a shadow seen through leaves,
a flicker of sunlight,
a streak of blue, polished like sealskin,
in the tree, leaping the wall.
The last memory cuts deepest,
of your eyes, their light,
a mere flicker
to say you were leaving.
Cat watches me, his coat, dapples among sun dapples, a leopard. Cat stalks, distrustful or perhaps disinterested, to sniff my outstretched hand. Hungry? He smiles and rolls on his back, belly up, yellow, black-buttoned and tight as a tick. I know that game, and no, I won’t risk my hand. He wriggles on his back, paws ready, tail flicking back and forth, then, pangolin-like, he curls head over tail and back again, buttons flashing. Suddenly, the leopard remembers his dignity, shakes the dust from his sunshine and shade dapples, and trots back to his private domain, slipping like a shadow, beneath the sheet metal door.
Lithe, wild, Bengal cat,
slips like exotic sunshine
through this dusty world.
A variation on the dVerse ghost cat theme that isn’t a Quadrille.
I see you on the roof at night,
When moonlight silvers smooth red tiles
And hear your cry, so distant now.
A slender shadow in the grass,
You sniff the rose we planted, where
We laid you in the cold, cold ground
And watered it with warmest tears.
Soon, I tell your phantom shade,
We all will fallen petals be.
Sleep, ghost cat, songbirds are calling,
Sleep in rose-sweet petals falling.
For the dVerse prompt—a quadrille using the word ghost.
I see you on the roof at night
when moonlight silvers smooth red tiles
and hear your cry, so distant now.
You sniff the rose we planted
on the place you lie.
Soon, I say, we will all be fallen petals.
Sleep, ghost cat.