November 4

comments 5
Uncategorized

[This Cat]

Demented by night,
his eyes deep saucers
for lapping up light,

hungry for the hunt, naturalized
to a sleepy house but not
at home in it,

residing more in the space
between the jam and the barely
-closed door

or in motion just
beyond the window,
with midway desires,

a contrary nature, to kill
prey dead but also play,
to go but stay, for me

to hold his tensile weight,
his lazy drape achieving
the aim

his involuntary claws
immediately
negate.

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5 Comments

    • I am also not a cat person (my dog is glaring at me as I type this, how does she know I wrote a poem about a cat that isn’t even my own?) — but thank you!

      Like

  1. My predatory puss is currently doing what she does best, napping.
    You capture much of the converse nature and lithe, agile beauty of these ‘pets’.
    And you do it, fittingly, so much more elegantly than I ever could!

    Like

    • I realize I must have had your post tucked in my subconscious somewhere while writing this, especially as this cat (not my cat, I’m not much of a cat person) has not brought me any of its kills. Maybe because I’m not a cat person? But we are friendly (polite?) acquaintances and it seems to work well for both of us 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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