Park Cat
lies on the walkway,
in the sun.
Stretches out on a summers day,
nothing to do or done.
Green eyes stare ahead,
green as the leaves.
Stomach wages total war to be fed
but this sleepy look says all ok as a heat wave heaves.
Park cat doesn’t pose for any photo.
Photographers have to catch that pose.
Birds take a little mid-afternoon bath.
Park cat has them under its nose.
My Cat’s Names
My cat has 6 names.
Initially, having got the first, it became a playful grandiose need for show
after some of my favourites from my hall of fame;
6 names but I could have added more, even so.
Since the early 80s,
Telemachus had always been my choice for any fictitious future cat,
hit upon while studying Joyce’s Ulysses
but now I wondered whether it might get shortened to Tel and I didn’t like that.
That said, it had to be in,
so it was, among the six; Moony Gainsbourg Taylor Telemachus Peter George.
Moony as a tribute to Keith Moon (and Audrey’s ‘Moon River’), his name in short, shortened.
Gainsbourg for Serge, Peter for Sellers and Cook, George for Best and the Beatles’ dark horse.
And Taylor? Tribute to Liz!
Had to get her in there somewhere even if my cat is a male!
So, a bit of everything, but mostly show biz;
And, indeed, my now almost 8-month-old grey-furred star is a class act from whiskers to tail!
POSTING A FEW FELINES
Paws and claws paw and claw
the world wildcat web across continents
with felis silvestris likes and growls
in instinctive correspondence;
Lybica posts a picture of captured prey.
Caucasica boasts of having already killed that day.
Jordansi is going through a dry spell
and Mellandi ends speculation with a sniff and a smell.
Tristrami steps gingerly over difficult terrain
and then wants to video it (doing it all over again).
Chutuchta has just given birth and licks her young
sharing the experience with everyone.
Nesterovi has fallen asleep, though still well aware
(with ears tuned in) of what’s going on out there.
Cafra risks her one life online
while Caudata comments that cats are meant to have nine.
Gordoni and Ornate spit hate
while Reyi and Rubida search for a mate.
Cretensis marks out territory, and naps it
while Iraki is jealous of such luxury, and wants to snap it.
As Ugandai nurses wounds and messages for aid
Griselda is on the prowl as daylight fades.
Foxi and Silvestris have befriended each other
but only because they’re too far apart to be a bother.
Now, this virtual world may seem rather unreal.
And indeed it is, but no big deal.
Their trivial pursuit is keeping alive;
Like and share if you’d like the animal kingdom to survive.
How I Stopped
I ate my cat’s food.
I was rude.
I lied and I trued.
I ignored and I clued.
I swore on every heart still beating.
I didn’t eat meat in case it was bleating.
I shook out 50 pence for the heating.
I went to every meeting.
I got the bends.
I got hooked on whatever tends.
I got real when real pretends.
I wanted to turn right at dead ends.
I said it.
I did my bit.
I had my greatest hit.
I stopped, but can I quit?
MOONY’S 4TH BIRTHDAY
I’d have him have a very special day.
I’d have him have a cat-biscuit, tuna-fish buffet
with some of his mates round.
Dodging cars, I’d have him wandering around town.
I’d have him get to the park
Chasing a bird for a lark.
I’d have him have a little romance
and catnapping having had his chance.
I’d have him stay out all night, and go where he will.
Of course, I’d have to have him bring back a trophy after a kill.
I’d have ‘Moony Lived 9 Lives Here’ on a plaque.
I’d have him always come back.
But all of this has not been his fate
And for one thing in particular it’s a snip bit too late!
Anyway, he’s 32 now (in our years)
And he’s had a quiet spent-in ok birthday. Or so it appears.
Moon behind clouds
Thunder lightning rain.
There’s no-one sane enough to say you’re sane.
A Pretty Kettle of Poetry 