Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty
It’s always a good practice when living on a farm,
To have a family of cats living in the barn
They always keep the rats and mice at bay and furnish humor too –
Wherever you find kittens there’s usually a laugh or two.
Now, I remember one time, I was out there milking cows,
When I noticed three young kittens, out and on the prowl.
One, a fine young tomcat, was really acting brave
And I wondered if he faced some fear just how he would behave.
Skillfully I squeezed and threw some milk across his face –
He winced a bit, then licked his lips – he knew he’d found the place.
We played around awhile and soon the playing stalled
When he stopped and took a minute to answer nature’s call.
He didn’t know it but he backed himself up to a fresh cow pad
He grunted; then had the best little poop a kitten ever had.
He turned around to cover it; then began the fun.
He knew what he saw lying there was more than he had done.
He arched his back, let out a scream and broke into a run.
I thought, at first, it might have been something I had done.
But soon it was no mystery what scared that little cat.
There was the giant pile of poop I couldn’t help laughing at.
This kitten was the alpha kitten of the litter
Who ultimately proved to me that he was no quitter.
So, when the time came to find him a name…
Well ….. I just called him……”Fraidy”
Written By John Posey
I have a cat
A real fat cat
My cat is all black
My black fat cat
It is a cat with a knack
A true fact about my cat
My fat black cat
She has a knack to catch a rat
My all black cat brought me the rat
This is why my cat is a fat black cat
So rats watch your back
From my cat with the knack
Or you will become a snack for my fat black cat
A lady took her duck to the Vet
He examined the duck then he said
"I'm sorry Miss, to inform you
but I'm afraid, your pet duck is dead."
"I find it hard to believe you
is there no more tests you can do?"
He opened the door then he told her
"I'll be back in a minute or two."
He came back with a Black Lab Retriever
and a cat that was part Black and White.
They both sniffed the Duck from head to foot
then the Vet says they proved I was right.
He gave the lady his bill.
One hundred and fifty it read
she said "you're charging me that much
just to tell me my pet duck was dead?"
"If you believed me from the beginning
your bill would be just twenty bucks
But with the Lab report and the Cat Scan
I'm afraid you're just out of luck!"
Contest: Show Me The Funny II
A Tribute to Golda
It was a clear and bright sun shining morning in May.
As I came out my front door into the breezeway,
I saw coming toward me an enormous gray dog with eyes of pure gold,
The most exquisitely beautiful canine one could ever behold,
With a calm gentle presence and peaceful demeanor;
The look in his brilliant gold eyes assured I had nothing to fear.
It was love at first sight and I hoped he would stay.
Never mind the impediments; I’d find a way.
My toddler son climbed on him like they’d grown up together,
As I seriously pondered the prospect of whether…
Absolutely not, said my husband, a cat man,
And nixed the idea before it began.
Weeks later, a litter box and cat food mysteriously appeared
On the sidewalk, out of nowhere; we thought it quite weird.
With the next morning’s sunrise, we figured it out.
The same coat of gray and gold eyes left no doubt;
The same being who before as a dog had been spurned,
In a more acceptable form and presence had now returned.
Bounding out of the bushes with a commanding meow,
A little gray, gold-eyed kitten my husband had to allow.
In her life as a cat and formerly a dog,
She was my brave and wise Golda who would go on to log
More than one rescue of our subsequent pets.
In defending attack, this courageous gray, gold-eyed feline was as fierce as it gets.
Note: Golda saved the life of my Chow-Chow puppy when she was attacked by a big dog that
came at her from across the street. Golda came out of nowhere with claws out, sending the
dog scurrying with his tail between his legs. Another time she rescued our little Siamese
youngster, Meowli, from the neighbors' dogs by jumping on their head while Meowli ran for
cover. Golda stayed with me for 12 years, longer than the husband cited in the poem, and
then when her time and her work was done, she just disappeared pretty much as she had
appeared. She was a beautiful, long haired all gray Persian with brilliant gold eyes. When not
rescuing other animals, she had the same calm, gentle and peaceful demeanor as the dog who
showed up that morning and left when he knew he was not welcome to stay.
7th place winner in ~Somewhere A Pet Is Waiting Contest~ sponsored by ~A Rambling Poet~
The Bombay Grocery (Indian)- North Carolina
Shyam*, finds cat food at special rate near the door.
Goes to check out to manager of the grocery store
Doubting manager asks to bring cat if he has one
Shyam returns with his small cat to buy food anon.
Next day Shyam comes with a bag in his hand
And ask the manager to put his hand to the end
Manager puts his hand and shouts “Poo,Doodie pure”
Shyam says, “ yes, sir, I want the toilet paper sure”
Fourth Place winner IN
Contest: Grocery Grammer by Linda-Marie, the sweetheart
* Shyam is an Indian name. Shyam also means Black-cloud colour. It is one of the name of
Lord Krishna. It happens to be the name of one of my grandson living in Charlotte (NC)
-honestly...I have no clue why...-
As I began to rest in my fickle dream
Suddenly I was stirred from my sleep
I was greeted by many a whisker
And petulant snores from my sister
The cat mewed ferociously and purred
For there on the other side of the window—was a bird!
It chirped like a wobbly siren—the ass!
And I swear by my bosom it was pecking the glass
Suddenly, I sprang up in alarm
I swear my bosom was gone!
The cat then motioned at the feathered brat
For her bright breasts seemed extra fat
Of course it wouldn’t have been that
But I couldn’t just blame the cat!
I opened the window only a crack
And asked very kindly, “May I have my breasts back?”
Such pride she attained from my bosom
Yet why? –how would she use ‘em!?
The mockingbird merely turned a goodbye
But the stolen twins were too heavy to fly!
She plopped to the ground and squawked
I would have laughed, but I was shocked!
The cat scratched at the window and with her eyes
Said, “Prithee, take your breasts—she’s mine!”
Before I could think I had fallen to the ground
To a booming, most terrible sound!
My eyes then opened to a cat on my head
As the booming sound continued from my sister’s bed
Blood mixed with dirt was still moist on the ground.
Traces of battle were scattered around.
The man entered slowly, a snare on his face.
Trying to hide his contempt and disgrace.
Announced by the cheers of the people above.
Among all the fighters they showed him most love.
Never defeated, no matter the foe.
With him they all knew they would soon see a show.
The man was all muscle, and seven feet tall.
Compared to his size, all the guards appeared small.
His skin was tanned golden, his eyes piercing green.
His hair long and braided and dark with a sheen.
His helmet of metal was fitted just so.
His sword and his shield had a rich, shiny glow.
A belt made of leather protected his waist.
His greaves, thick and sturdy and perfectly laced.
Suddenly silent, the crowd had grown still.
Awaiting arrival, expecting a thrill.
And then there was thunder, the roar of the beast.
Declaring his entrance, predicting a feast.
The man and the lion began in their game.
Predator, prey, they both looked the same.
They circled and circled and then in a blink.
The cat had attacked, so anxious to drink.
They struggled together, locked in a war.
The crowd cheered them on, hoping for gore.
And then he was bitten, the wound on his leg.
But he would not fumble and he would not beg.
He reached for his weapon so close where it lay.
He would not accept this would be his last day.
And just as the creature had pounced in the air.
He killed the great cat with his sword and a prayer.
The fighter stood up with his blood dripping down.
The steel of his helmet concealing his frown.
The great gladiator continued to reign.
Another he killed, one more smile he must feign.
I s'pose some folks prefer a hound dog lyin' at their feet,
While others might enjoy a twitterin' parakeet.
But be it a mogul's mansion or a humble flat,
A house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!
Thankfully, my cat doesn't bark or scourge my pristine lawn,
Nor does he wake me for outside relief at the crack of dawn.
Furthermore, my dear old pal I seldom have to holler at.
A house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!
My cat is content to have me stroke and brush his hair,
And happier yet if he can occupy my favorite chair.
As master of his domain, why should he ever want to roam?
Without an inscrutable cat, a house just ain't a home!
While he reposes upon my lap and I stroke his silky fur,
Ain't nothin' more relaxin' than to hear his soothin' purr.
He won't condone a walk, I'll certainly grant you that,
Yet, a house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!
His independent airs and a few stray hairs I can tolerate;
Even my chair by the glowin' fire to him I will abnegate.
I reckon you can enjoy a snake, pot-bellied pig or hybrid rat,
But a house just ain't a home, without an inscrutable cat!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Poet Destroyer's "My Best Pet Or Animal Poem" Contest - Jun 2011
Oft' I wonder what my cat Simba thinks behind that baleful stare.
Is he planning roguery or just building castles in the air?
Perhaps he's reviewing strategies for catching a bird to devour.
Here's what I sense goes on behind his condescending glower!
I 'puuur'ceive he's thinking, "Hey, remove yourself from my chair!
Who said you could sit there - that's my favorite lair!
Will you at least make room on your very ample lap,
So I can curl up and take my usual afternoon nap?"
Many times he glares at me and emits a plaintive 'meow'.
I'm sure he's thinking, "Hey, pal, ain't it time for chow?"
He stalks about the house as if it was his sole domain,
Thinking, "I guess I'll benevolently allow you to remain!"
With soulful eyes he invites me to scratch behind his ears.
If I try to comb his coat, "Oh no you don't!" and he disappears!
Sprawling upon the window sill he gazes across the street,
Eyeing the Persian cat, thinking, "Meeee-Wow! Her I'd like to meet!"
When he begins to purr and 'puuur'sistently rubs against my feet,
He's probably thinking, "Hey, old buddy, how about a treat?"
My cat thinks, "He's not a bad sort, him I can tolerate.
He provides my grub - furthermore, with him I can communicate!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Francine Roberts' "Pick A Pet" Contest - July 2011