My Cat

(nb, I do not own, nor have I ever owned, a cat - but if I did, it might go something like this...)


My cat

My cat, he slinks
He drinks his water regally, quiet and royally
Ferally stalking, he’s walking or ambling
Finally feeling sane, he pauses—
feline claws clenched for an ambush
(A fine game of rat or mouse. Oh to kill and eat a defenseless baby duck!)

He stops stalking when I look at him
he returns my stare, glowering. I glare, almost glowing. Mad at my cat. Why,
he doesn’t even love me, my tabby. Me?
Ok, so I am chatty, admittedly. Lonely yes, but dares he pity me?
Me, his master? How durst he! Must he?
This cat of mine, coughing up a dust ball! Nine lives, p’shaw!

First of all: “Get off the couch, you hairy beast,” I shout right through my home
For now he brushes against my leg, and again against his scratching post
fur rubbing gently now
almost erotic for such a heavy pet
almost ‘sexy’
like the clubs on Queen Street where I feel like
the real deal
or the ace of hearts.
And I’m on fire, shuffled out onto the deck for smoking,
but it’s like I’m burning, stuck in the mud
smoking outside the clubs
before leeched lovers sucking on each other
wannabees, really
full of beans. They’re for the birds
not for me,
Me alone out on in the courtyard on a Friday night,
But it feels like a Wednesday

In there, inside there
I am the dancing king
in rooms full of sweaty courtiers.
Those are diamonds in their eyes
“Oh, but you’re so shiny”—that’s what they tell me, tauntingly

Don’t patronize me,
I feel like scowling, but instead
I walk away

I want to say, “Listen cats, you do as I say.”
“You’re just cats; you can’t speak English—you depend on me in every way.”
with agility they leap away
And I think,
oh you silly cat,
you stinky dirty rat—
I’ll have your ass one day.

(yeah, gets a bit carried away ... March 2001)

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