They say just there beyond the valley, that
There lived inside a house a little cat
Who never went outside to run and play;
She had to spend her time indoors each day.
Beside the window, curled on wooden chair,
Her heart was saddened by the nasty glare
Of other cats that passed within her sight
With eyes of fear and looking for a fight.
One day a while back she’d gone outside
But never stayed out long, came in to hide—
The kitties laughed and chided her and so
Would not befriend her; she became their foe.
They called her Rainbow Cat, her owners named
Her that, because her fur was brightly flamed
With colors—yellow, green and red and blue
Laid out in arcs— like rainbows her fur grew.
Now Rainbow Cat, aware that she was shy
And different from others that passed by
Began to think of other ways to cope
To make them like her—so there was some hope.
She thought and thought, whatever can I do
To let them know beneath this colored ‘doo’
There lives a nice smart kitten just like them
And not a kitty cat they should condemn.
That night it came to her within a dream;
Next morning she began to smile and beam.
Her owner left the door somewhat ajar
When they went out for shopping with their car.
Her bowl of yummy dry food in the room
Was filled up to the top, and without gloom,
She carried dry food nibbles, one by one,
Out through the door onto the porch, when done
She stood beside her feast, began to eat
And soon the cats came by, did not retreat—
But closer to the porch they came to see
That Rainbow Cat had planned a cat party.
They came to share the feast each, one by one,
And Rainbow Cat was happy they had come!
The cats now saw beneath her rainbow fur
She was a kitty just like them and purred.
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Moral: Never judge people by how they look:
What is inside is what really counts.
Contest: Fable to the Rescue
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
One was a child
so sweet and mild
Voice of a bell
to ward off hell
One was a bell
with a crystal chime
To comfort the cat
and make the earth shine
Two was a cat
With a mysterious past
A dark view of the world
And a horrible wrath
Two was a mind
as dark as night
To protect the doll
That could not see the light
Three was a doll
With a broken soul
A shattered heart
With eyes a black hole
Three was a rose
Of pure white
Covered in thorns
As black as night
Glowing eyes invade the darkness of the night.
A majestic hunter with prey in it's sights.
Slowly moving through the grass, as slient as an empty glass.
A creature with a sullen expression, embraking upon a hunting session.
It srikes from the shadows of the night; giving the prey little change of escape or fight.
A body full of warming fur and makes the sound of a meow or pur.
Pointy ears, thin legs and sharp claws; extending out from padded paws.
This cretaure wears a sumptuous looking coat always shiney and clean; walking with graceful posture like that of a ballroom scene.
It's younger form more playful and small, but soon will grow just as cunning and tall.
Masquerading as innocent family pets and balls of fur; hiding the true heart of a loin waiting to roar.
Some choose to live with families in thier home; well others like the nomadic people enjoy to roam.
Hedonistic in nature like Lord Henry from the story of Dorian grey, the cat hate's having it's pleasurable lifestyle taken away.
Roaming around night and day...... this creature of beauty is always on the hunt; for it's next prey....
How unlike a cat is this
slender dash of ink upon the page,
this pinch of print, this little line
of punctuation, adding
its mere millimetres of meaning,
black against white,
significant in its separation
of segments of the sentence,
imbuing words around it with a dab
of consequence or moment.
How like a printed dash
is my black cat,
stretched and stark against the sun-white concrete
of the distant yard baking below,
separating nothing but atoms of air,
significant only in herself –
a piece of furry punctuation
that tells us solely that it is,
and needs no function to perform.
By itself, it is of itself,
answerable to no one and to nothing –
except the rain, which has just arrived,
suddenly, in slapping, ponderous lumps,
to soak the stone page and darken it,
and drive her dash to drier quarters.
I do not know?
Cat, original and resurrected
Pounce on the same fish
How can the fish identify who is who?
Who is false, who is true?
Let choose your bacterium her Petri dish.
A predator's rapier claws,
maintains her in good health.
And mingling with the shadows,
she stalks her prey with stealth.
Pouncing at nearly lightning speed,
she's a featureless blur.
And yet when cuddled in my lap,
Death wears the softest fur.
The theme is #1 Feline (common meter stanza),
Written by Emile Mar. 27, 2015 for the contest “Let Me Feel Your Lines”