These Cat Social poems are examples of Social poems about Cat. These are the best examples of Cat Social poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Tiring. You’d think they’d stop walking this street,
with all the men who do nothing but bleat.
Hopeless. When has a cat call succeeded?
You’d think they’d stop after they’re unheeded.
Heaven forbid I do not once call out.
“Gay” (and much worse) the idiots would shout.
Goodness knows that I will never respond.
Who knows of more wretched men ever spawned?
How did this idiotic practice start?
It’s not the way to win a woman’s heart.
A cat with scabies
next to the beggar's empty
Fables of CharlaX
There is far too many to make a short list there is superstitions eye remember
when eye was just a kid. The many things my girlfriends had to tell me things
they ruined life at such an early age there is the BROKEN MIRROR that brings
the SEVEN YEARS bad luck? The black cat crossing my path. The ladder that
was never under the beam do not step under that in a funk of disbelief eye did all
them things and now eye am homeless could it be that eye am superstitious or
just unlucky in my life but then eye have met my violet flower my only one and only
new life partner she is such a wonderful person not a superstitious reason in her
curtain eye am certain of that now? The cat was never black enough to scare me
but there was that just one time? It ran of course because my petting would have
kept it from the dinner the mouse tail sticking out of a very black and ebon mouth.
No bad luck can come to me AH HA eye cried its nothing. Then eye ran a little up
the hill to home. And almost strangeld self eye ran full tilt boogie into the wire
clothes line nearly taking off my head and losing all the dread of dying for there it
nearly was. That was back in 1961 the time is not important there was never any
time for love. Some things eye can remember but choose not to keep at all. Do
not mop the floor under my feet is one.
Do not make such sweeps under my feet and yes we did we told the girls to put
the feet up so we must seep there anyway do you want me to get fired from such
an important job as this one?
They screamed and left the diner sure that bad luck was to come upon them oh
gentle reader ewe don't laugh Erline never sweeps behind the counter.
Horatio, you sly and cunning feline.
You think you're smart.
Yes, you think I don't know what
you do when I go to work.
But I know, old boy, I know.
I know that you clean your slick gray fur
in front of the mirror.
I know that you make sure that
your collar is straight
and that your whiskers are trimmed.
You have to look your best
when she's there, don't you?
I know that you invite that calico
from the garden over
when I'm at work.
I know that you two play my Coltrane records-
to get you in the mood.
I can picture you two tapping your paws
and bobbing your furry heads to the beat,
feeling the groove,
digging that sax.
I can picture you laying next to her.
Your tail moving like a pendulum,
Your yellow eyes giving her
that "come hither look."
When I come home,
there is a plume of blue cigarette smoke
hanging in the air
and there are two empty wine glasses
with paw prints on the coffee table.
And you Horatio,
lie there in the blanketing sunbeam
from the window,
pretending to daydream of mice.
The rat tiptoed to the house, picks up a thread
While the soft spoken black cat is, still, in bed
Sleepy, but, she is to battle it, to win, for today
To gain her breath, in solitude, for another day
At first, she will fetch water, from a sacred well
Passing through the silent field of fears, of hell
While the sympathetic morning moon watches
And giving her consoles, with uplifting touches
Of hopes, to warm her shaken, but noble heart
From the cold of early morn, that torn her apart
Before the fading moon could bid her goodbye
Her tiny feet has swollen red, like a chicken fry
The rat sadly waves her bye to the fading moon
She kisses gladly the first crow, with her broom
To sweep the scattered butts, of Marlboro Light
Before favored kitten come, and give her a fight
She uses her magic matches to light the sticks
Delicately set at the center of a three big bricks
Eggs and bacon, with riz Cantonese to prepare
The boiling silvery pot, patiently, waits her care
While the family feasts, the rat runs to the room
To fix the beds’ pleats, and then, she will zoom
To clean the ruin of wars, on the two slab tables
Before, she finds herself drown, in little bubbles
Her paled skin got burned, from the blazing sun
While the soft spoken black cat enjoying the fun
Of watching, the afternoon entertainments show
That the rat never sees, for she has list to follow
But, before the day ends, the poor rat was bitten
By the soft spoken black cat, left.....right up to ten
That made her soul cries, under the mango tree
Hides her tears, in the dark, no one will ever see
Only when the soft spoken black cat’s gone away
Thus, the rat feels happy, for she has time to play
In a world, where no creatures exist, but, just her
She now lives in illusion, in her own, fake laughter
The rat has beaten many times the first cockcrow
For the soft spoken black cat, not to live in sorrow
Till she left her, nothing, but full of fear and wraths
Forever haunt her, even if, she takes dozen baths
O God, the rat has a phobia, ‘cos of this black cat
Won’t you ever pity seeing her sleeping in a mat?
Or when somebody, with shot, scratches her tail?
For I cannot stand, seeing how human beings fail