My Cat, Poppi

 

This little one, neatly made, quick to jump to a high place, either for resting or vantage, or with tiny paws flip a blanket over her own curved, snuggling back: agile, heat-seeking, comfort-loving, curious, adept … changeable moment to moment, yet she is definite, predictable: creating her life with both whim and established habit.

A fine intelligence shines from her eyes. She is knowing, sums me up every moment. She is wise, accepting my limitations: I’m only human. She is demanding, knowing her due; miaowing bugle-call loud when she needs: food / a clean litter tray / scritches and cuddles (reasonable demands, I say).

Tit for tat. When I stroke or hug her, she purrs deep, nestles in. I kiss the top of her dainty, wee head. One afternoon, lying down for a nap, I rouse to find her licking my hair just where it edges my forehead – grooming me, like one of her kittens. 

The smallest cat I ever had, and the sweetest-natured, she is nevertheless queen of her domain. I only live here. 

We both know my function: to care. We both know hers: to be, thereby to delight.

~ Small cat in high place, with blanket and view ~

Written for FridayWritings #191: Small but Beautiful, at Poets and Storytellers United. I've also attempted to write this as a flash poem: a form of prose poetry characterised by brevity and intensity. (My first attempt. Not sure I've pulled it off.)

You Cat

 

You are my furry wonderland, you Cat.

No continent’s as rich or rare as you, Cat.

You are a landscape of soft undulations

all moving and shifting as you do, Cat.

Sometimes I run my open hand all along 

your belly or back, tracking through Cat.

Our else I will touch my forehead to yours

and you bump yours against mine too, Cat.

When you gaze at me, giving one slow blink,

I know that is your love for me on view, Cat.

In distress you may look ferocious. At times, 

predator, a ferocity in your aspect is true, Cat.

In this picture, you sit straight up, attentive,

fluffy yet menacing – towards, I ask, who, Cat? 

You have lived with me now in many forms

over the years: black, tabby, sable or blue, Cat.

You continue to live with me, in presence, in

remembrance, and in my reverence for you, Cat.

NaPoWriMo Day Eight.

We were invited to look at pictures from The Museum of Bad Art, and also to write a love poem in the form of a ghazal. I love to play with that form! The final verse is supposed to include one's own name or a reference to oneself. As lovers of Shakespeare know, Rosemary is for remembrance.

The particular cat image from the Museum, which I used for inspiration. (Scroll down one row.)

For International Haiku Day

so much to do –

I envy my little cat

lolling at ease

The Poem A Day prompt for today is to write a pessimistic poem. But I wrote a VERY pessimistic one only yesterday, and that's enough for now! The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write about wanting to be someone or something else. I found out late that yesterday (17th) was International Haiku Day, so I'm belatedly writing my poem for today in that form ... well, actually a senryu.

Observing Poppi

 

I watch how her fur catches the sun.

It’s not really black. The highlights gleam

a warm reddish-brown.

I watch her curl and flex and stretch,

doing her slow cat-yoga routine,

then I reach to stroke her soft belly.

She folds herself in,

purrs, relaxes ... and shifts into dream.

Where do our souls wander, after the light is gone?

The NaPoWriMo prompt is to describe a place or object in sensual detail, then end with an abstract, philosophical line which seems not to be related to the rest but really is.

The Poem A Day prompt is to write a form poem, or an anti-form poem, or both. I decided on the Magic 9 form (nine lines with abacadaba rhyme scheme and no other rules) and to make my main (a) rhymes half-rhymes.

Also sharing this with Friday Writings #123 at Poets and Storytellers United: April.

Published in Paper Birds.

Fate?

A mistake. You might say a mischance.

Not really supposed to happen.

Not in my agenda, definitely against.

‘No more cats!’ I vowed, when

Freya and Levi (numbers 6 and 7,

brother and sister) finally, in turn,

crossed the Rainbow Bridge – at 

a goodly age, only a year apart. 

‘It hurts too much,’ I told myself.

 And for a while it was nice to have 

more money, and the freedom 

to stay out late or even go away.

But then my friend’s daughter, who 

not long before bought Queenie 

off Gum Tree, had a sudden change 

of circumstance, couldn’t keep her.

‘Please!’ begged my friend. ‘She’s so 

lovely!’ (Her own landlord didn’t allow.)

‘Don’t let her go to the Pound!’

So I didn’t. I renamed her Selene,

rhyming with the name she knew.

She was elegant, mysterious, aloof

as a moon goddess. And traumatised

by two so sudden changes of home.

It took months for us to get past detente.

But I came to love her fiercely. She went

from wary to sleeping on me and purring.

She wasn’t young, and carried within her

seeds of an unknown illness. The vet said

to investigate further risked in itself killing her.

Three happy years, then a sudden decline.

I did what I had to, to save her further pain.

‘That’s really it!’ I said. ‘I can’t go past

that intense, unexpected love, that too-brief

fulfilment, that piercing grief. No more

cats, ever! This time I really mean it.’

Fate had a fresh surprise for me, only a few 

months later. Friend-of-a-friend’s dear cat unable

to accompany them to a new home (long story).

About to be put down, only because they couldn't

allow her to go to just anyone. Fair enough. 

We arranged that I’d make a few visits, become 

acquainted with Poppi. A dignified little personage, 

she liked me at once. When the time came, they 

brought her to my place, with all her familiar stuff.

Her favourite person hugged her goodbye.

‘Take good care of her!’ he implored, tears

unshed misting his eyes. ‘I promise!’ I said.

She settled in, explored the space. The third day

she went all over as if looking for something … 

or someone? But then she turned wholeheartedly 

to me. Loved and pampered all her life, affection

and trust came easily to her. And she knew me,

knew that I came with her first family’s blessing.

I didn’t fall all the way in love at once. But I did

like her very much. It wasn't long until I realised

she’s not only cute but sweet-natured, and very smart.

She’s another old girl (like me) – ten when she moved in. 

Now, three and a bit years later, she’s my treasure, my 

constant joy, my greatest blessing, and yes, my dear love, 

the perfect cat for me at this present time – which seems

as if it will stretch a lot longer yet. Lightning strikes twice! 

Two unforeseen, undesired, miraculous major events.

[See revised version.]

Combining the NaPoWriMo prompt to write about a meeting/interaction that wasn't supposed to happen with the PAD prompt of a major event.

Selene

Poppi

Home for Me

Home for me must have a cat.

And for that cat – there have been 

many, each in turn, in their time, 

the most important in the world –

for that cat, I say, my home must be 

their home, their own, with every 

comfort, all safety, each need met,

where they are always loved, and where

they know they are free to be loving. 

Written for Friday Writings #96 at Poets and Storytellers United: What, for you, conjures up Home?

Symbiosis

My touch –

I am sure she feels this –

is worshipful,

telling this deaf cat –

as my voice would 

if she could hear it –

she is cherished, admired, adored

beyond reason – although 

there are reasons.

The reasons are many and good,

as I hope my touch conveys.

There is the sheen of her fur

catching the sunlight, and

its silken feel under my hand.

The curve of her tiny head,

or loving paw.

The sound of her purr.

The trustful nudge of her brow.

I could go on and on

but she has woken

and called me to play,

rattling down the passage

on loud little feet,

confident I’ll follow.

(I know my role in this game;

she has trained me well.)

I must lumber after.

I must rub her tummy

as she stretches and writhes 

on the sunroom carpet.

I must dangle pink threads

(which used to be shoelaces

from a pair of striped sneakers)

for her to chase and catch and let go

and leap again after. Then I must carry her 

to sleep on the soft rug on my bed.

She is my most important

responsibility. I live

to look after her, to make sure

she is well, safe and happy.

She is the centre

of my small, elderly world,

my world shrunk to essentials.

At this time of my life, I know 

the essentials are love and touch. 

Another cat poem! Which again I'm sharing with Poets and Storytellers United – in this case for Friday Writings #19, where Magaly advises us: 'It's important to have a twinkle in your wrinkle' and invites us to be inspired by this thought. She does mean the sort of wrinkles that come with ageing – which I certainly have! And my cat, Poppi, always puts a twinkle in my eyes.