Long poem by
Broken Wings | Details |
I want to tell you the story of my life. I was born in a barn at dawn. There were
eight of us but I was the only one with spots. I was a calico cat. Soon people came
to look at us and I was the first to be adopted. I came to live with an old lady in the
city. It was a heritage building made into apartments, it was warm and cozy. There
were many window ledges for me to look out and my old lady was very sweet. She
gave me a bowl of milk every single day and she gave me lots of treats. Soon I grew
into a very fat cat. The years passed quickly and we became best of friends. Talking
and watching television and going for naps. One day we went for our afternoon nap,
the day passed, the evening passed and the night passed. They found me beside
her. She had gone to heaven.
There was so much commotion that I ran away and went into the back of the
bedroom closet. I stayed there a long, long time until I was being dragged out by
my tail, I screeched and tried to scratch but I was put in a box. It was dark and I
was so afraid. Time went by, tick, tick. Then a girl was peaking into the box at me.
Hello pretty girl, she said. I heard people talking and they were telling her that if
they could not find a home for me that I would be put to sleep. Hold on I wanted
to say, I don't need any help sleeping. The girl had tears rolling down her cheeks.
She had a sweet way and lifted me out of the box. Oh my, she said, you are a big
girl. I was not a girl really, I was by this time an old cat, 14 years old in cat years.
We sat on the sofa and I was being petted gently, I liked that, so I purred. Then,
the girl said, I'll take her and that is when she became My Girl.
My Girl lived in the same heritage building and her apartment was just down
the hall. It was sunny and bright and had many windows also. I soon realized that
I was not the only cat here. I was introduced to Violet Patches, also a calico cat,
years older than me. And I was told that I had a new name, it was Pearl Smudges.
Don't laugh because it could have been Chocolate Peanut Butter Parfait! At first,
I did not like Violet Patches but in no time we were friends. She was a very feisty
cat, leaping and running all over the place. I was amazed how high she could jump.
I could not jump because I was fat.
At feeding time, a tablespoon of meat was put in my bowl and I gobbled it up.
In a moment it was gone. I gave My Girl the look, you know the look but she only
laughed. I went to check the bowl several times. Not until lunch, she said to me.
Then we played, oh it was lovely, there were balls and fuzzy mice and this dangling
thing that I loved. I knew I could hold onto it but it kept getting away. Violet
Patches kept stealing the toys and I wanted to chase her, but I was getting tired
So I went for a nap on the bed where My Girl had put a cozy blanket for me. I soon
fell asleep and I had dreams of the barn where I was born, I was kneading my
blanket and drooling. I looked around but I was alone. The sun was shining in
and I stayed there all day forgetting about food. Did I tell you I have no teeth.
We settled into a happy family and the years passed. I liked the summer when
My Girl would take us out in her small garden and we would sit in the sun. She had
two chairs in the beginning but had to go get another for herself. She let us sniff
the flowers and roll on her patch of green grass but she never took her eyes off us.
She always kept us safe, she even put up a fence so Violet Patches could not run out.
I would never run away, I was too happy to do that. We liked to sit on the window
ledges and watch the birds and squirrels, the trees, the rain and the world passing.
In the winter we tried to catch the snowflakes that hit the window. It was a nice
life. I loved My Girl and Violet Patches so much, but things changed.
Violet Patches got sick, real sick, she cried most of the time. My Girl was taking
her to the doctor all the time and each time came home with a new medicine to try.
Oh, how Violet Patches hated that medicine, she would run and hide. Often I wanted
to stop My Girl but did not know how. Then, one morning My Girl got the cat
carrier out, she put Violet Patches inside and left. When she came back the carrier
was empty and My Girl was weeping and weeping. I knew then that my friend was
gone. I wrapped myself in my blanket and stayed there for three days. I did not
eat or drink. I heard My Girl talking and she was saying that maybe she was going
to lose another cat. That day she came and sat on the bed beside me. She said,
Pearl Smudges I need to talk to you. You need to stop this, you need to come off
this bed and eat something, so come on, come on. She left the room. I thought
about that for a moment then decided that My Girl needed me.
It has been several weeks now since that sad day and we have settled into a
routine, we get up and have breakfast. I have discovered that I like tea. My Girl
caught me with my tongue in her cup so she now gives me a saucer of tea. I have
lost weight and eat good food but not junk. We play a lot with all my toys. When
My Girl leaves for work I go back to my blanket, the sun comes shining in and I roll
and roll, it is so lovely. Slowly, I am coming to terms with the loss of my cat friend
and I am determined to be the best cat in the world for My Girl who saved me from
being put to sleep, forever. I am not sure how much time I have left, myself, for I
am a very, very old girl.
April 16, 2015
Entered in, Million Dollar Poem Contest, sponsor, Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Broken Wings
Long poem by
Mary Oliver Rotman | Details |
Randomling 1: Matthew Macfadyen
I believe I'm in love with Matthew Macfadyen
He inspires in me a terribly bad yen
But as poetry goes
His name 'spires woes
Cause nothing rhymes with "Macfadyen”.
Randomling 2: Birthday Wishes
For my birthday, I would like a man.
I wonder---can you get one from a can?
Or maybe from a catalog?
Maybe I'll just get a dog.
Randomling 3: Yet Another Cat Poem
toddlers in fur
senior citizens with retractable claws
lions in their own minds
lunch in the minds of dogs.
Randomling 4: Desert Woes
A sage river in a field of sand:
so flows hope in a barren land;
the crippled heart in prosthetic steel,
hacked and scarred, a vulture’s meal.
Randomling 5: Dark Poetry
Follow poetry to its source;
There find heartbreak and remorse.
Follow poetry to the bitter end,
And there find death, its bosom friend.
Randomling 6: Ode to Bananas
an underappreciated fruit
sentenced to banananality
because yellow is their long suit.
Randomling 7: Untitled
this heart is closed to deposits.
There's no more room for pain.
Randomling 8: Untitled
My heart is sealed in a cold steel vault,
and I’ve lost the combination.
Randomling 9: Joyce Kilmer 2015
I think that I shall never see
A man as useful as a tree.
One has uses by the score;
The other one is apt to snore.
Randomling 10: Bedtime Prayers
Now I lay me down to sleep,
A leaden heart is mine to keep.
If I should die before I wake--
Now there’s an offer I’d gladly take.
Randomling 11: The Devil Wind
Fury with a smoky tail
Eddies of destruction
Deceitful beauty, enchanting danger
Death sporting a makeover
DON'T READ #12 IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ME TALK TO MY SON ABOUT CERTAIN ASPECTS OF THE BIRDS AND BEES_________________________
Randomling 12: A Boy's Best Friend
Your penis—it is not a toy
I told my little son.
O yes it is, he parried me
It's quite my favorite one.
Randomling 13: Fault Lines
I have a bathroom mirror
that's grown faulty over time.
My reflection is no longer true;
it's developed little lines!
Randomling 14: Shakespeare 101
“To be or not to be. That is the question.”
--Whaddya mean, THE question?
Randomling 15: Christmas?
Peace on earth to men of good credit
Who give the gift of corporate profit
in the holy name of commercialism.
Randomling 16: Musical Believer
Though my conscience sleeps,
wrapped in the Valium of
agnosticism, it awakens to
the music of Mozart--
once more knowing God
by the sound of His voice.
Randomling 17: Vacuum
I didn't write a poem when you died.
The words would not come.
Perhaps I felt too deeply,
perhaps not enough;
maybe I died too. 10/06/01
Randomling 18: Insanity
Insanity is underrated
Its drawbacks,much overstated.
How else to do what you darn well please
And accomplish it with so much ease?
Randomling 19: Dog Day Afternoon
WATER! BALL! CHASE!
salt, waves, undertow
I don't know what's going
on here, but I'm HAPPY!
Randomling 20: Opposites Attract
i am matter---love, antimatter
never to meet save to explode
i am space, love is time
parallel dimensions never to meet
Randomling 21: Puppy Love
I ride a leaky newspaper raft
Adrift on the linoleum
Anxiously awaiting an
An attack of smelly
covered in fuzz:
Randomling 22: Newton's Poultice
Apple falls from tree
Newton (ouch!) takes notice
Comes up with law of gravity
while wearing a poultice
on the solstice
Randomling 23: Ticking
And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
while my life fell apart all around me.
Sweet memories faded to shadow
as my heart fell to pieces inside me.
And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
Relentlessly ticking, ticking
While my life fell apart all around me.
Randomling 24: Untitled
a mosaic assembled from
tiles of delight and
black-glazed stones of despair
in seamless beauty
Randomling 25: Seasonal Lament
end at both end
as summer falls into the
arm of winter. arm
Randomling 26: Untitled
I didn't want
to love you.
Randomling 27: Pills
Depression is days and nights curled fetal-like
in a dark room, no interest in the world outside,
idly wondering if there are enough
pills in the bottle to kill you,
then thinking it's not worth the effort
to find out because you're dead inside already.
Randomling 28: Guilt By Association
Fresh morning light frames
the cat, surrounded by piles of
dirt and deceased plants,
Randomling 29: Bell the Cat
How do you give a cat a bath?
Maybe you can do the math.
All I know is she stinks to high heaven.
And of us there are only seven.
How many humans to bathe a cat?
Definitely more than where we're at!
Randomling 30: Muse
I want to write a poem
using the word gossamer.
Randomling 31: Ripples
Canoes rock gently
under the waxing moon.
Black water ripples,
painting a beautiful scene
under the scented pines.
Randomling 32: Sunshine Waterfall
I cleanse my face in a sunshine waterfall,
luxuriate in a sunshine shower.
Waterfall flow and warm me;
sprinkle lemon drops through my hair.
Randomling 33: Salon Treatment
Hurricanes scour everything
they touch, then rinse and blow
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman
Long poem by
Dylan Irvin | Details |
Phantom Journal Entry 1
Wednesday 8:03 A.M.
I found Jesus at a bus stop this morning. He recommended that I comb my hair. I told him if I had any nails I would hand them over. Monty found a shoe full of vomit by a dumpster. Someone had an interesting night. This apartment smells like stale french fries. Frank is still sleeping on the counter next to Mr. Coffee. There is a stray cat clawing at the windowpane. The town is gradually waking up. The park across the street is filled with shirkers. My mind is still living in last night’s conversation. But I don’t remember it very well. Shit, I’m going to be late for
Phantom Journal Entry 2
Wednesday 11:13 P.M.
Work sucked. I think the bartender is an alcoholic. She hides a flask in her bra. It fell out when we were in the stall together. Frank is sprawled across the kitchen floor. Monty steps over him to grab a beer. The stray cat is now sleeping on the windowpane. Nothing ever changes from morning to night. Except Monty is drinking coffee and not beer.
Phantom Journal Entry 3
Good Friday 9:47 P.M.
The ocean left the brine. The girls here are all made of smoke, and their dreams are living in my beer. The worms are drunk on the stove. Frank passed out hugging the toilet. Monty takes a piss right next to his face. Some girl just asked me what I was writing. I told her that I was rewriting the Bible. She seemed confused. Her hair wasn’t combed either. The guy at the bus stop would be ashamed. I can’t remember his name though. The television can’t stop spewing poorly scripted ‘reality’ shows. This Friday isn’t very Good.
Phantom Journal Entry 4
Monday 3:12 A.M.
My eyes are broken garage doors off the tracks. I’ve drank too much Red Bull. She keeps waking up and asking me for water. Apparently her mouth is in a drought. A dead soldier lays between her breasts. Frank keeps drooling on the carpet. My favorite ash tray is tipped over next to Mr. Coffee. This desk keeps hiding words from me. Monty wonders how much a plane ticket to Hell costs. He never sleeps.
Phantom Journal Entry 5
Thursday 12:31 A.M.
It smells of raw fish and bleach in here. My palms are sore. Monty told me to stab myself with pencils to make sure I could still bleed. So I did. That girl ordered me a pizza. But I forgot it under the couch. The medicine chest is nearly empty. When Frank wakes up he is taking a trip to 5th Street to get more. I wonder if they sell bandages there? Will Mr. Coffee brew marijuana for us? My brain is starting to throw up.
Phantom Journal Entry 6
Thursday 12:38 A.M.
This desk keeps mocking me. I offered it to the guy at the bus stop, but he said he didn’t want anymore wood. The dishes are now a chemistry project. But Mr. Coffee is always clean. I can’t get this girl to stop showing me her tattoos. I miss the bartender at work. She got fired tomorrow. So I bought her a new bra. The medicine chest is empty now. Frank is never awake when I write.
Phantom Journal Entry 7
Thursday 4:30 P.M.
I finally got the garage doors fixed. I guess they weren’t closed enough. There is a ghost that keeps haunting the hallway in my dreams. She is pretty hot. Except she keeps tilting the pictures on the wall.
The thirsty girl still won’t leave. Neither will the cat. We may have found the cure for cancer in our dishes. But probably not. Frank is talking in his sleep about stepping on rats. Monty is listening to Beethoven while he attempts to write poetry. He is an awful writer.
Phantom Journal Entry 8
Monday 1:49 A.M.
The guy at the bus stop asked me if I wanted to drink his blood. I told him I wasn’t thirsty. The water was running from the shower. Frank was dreaming in the tub. Monty ate chicken wings with the tattooed girl. I can’t remember her name. I think that cat is hungry too. Mr. Coffee wants to go to sleep. There is broken glass sticking out of my feet. The sky is bleeding white. My mind begins to masturbate.
Phantom Journal Entry 9
Sunday 3:33 A.M.
The brine is looking for the ocean. The girls here are all made of smoke, and their realities are dead on the floor. This desk is growing a face. The medicine chest is full. Monty picks up a filthy habit from the black lake. I haven’t seen Frank for a few days. He must be under the couch. I robbed the guy at the bus stop. Turns out he didn’t really save much. The thirsty tattooed girl shattered Mr. Coffee last night. I will miss him dearly. Now my shot glass is spawning worms.
Phantom Journal Entry 10
Tuesday and I don’t know what time it is
It’s been 369 days since I last wrote an entry. I’ve simply had nothing to say. Monty is living in the streets somewhere. I think of him every time I buy a loaf of bread. I wonder if he found out how much tickets cost? That cat finally starved a few weeks ago. I married that thirsty tattooed girl. I still don’t remember her name though. Frank went to sleep in someone elses apartment. Never did talk to him much. The worms are all marching in a line. Someone stole my medicine chest. I think it was Monty. The guy at the bus stop was thrown into an asylum. But somehow vanished one day. The garage doors are now closed on a regular basis. That ghost finally straightened out the tilted pictures. I think I’ve been combing my hair a lot better lately. I am still a phantom to society. But that’s okay. Nobody knows my name.
Copyright © Dylan Irvin
Long poem by
Gina Young | Details |
I once walked into my backyard
and found two slugs mating in a bucket
I had just learned how slugs go about mating,
or trust-I would have been rightly confused
Here hangs a long line of slime, almost a foot long
and then halfway down the thread of slime, it begins to twist, to look like a strand of DNA
I am fascinated beyond comprehension
What am I seeing, I mean I KNOW what Im seeing- But WHAT am I seeing??
These two gelatinous creatures, that I admit Ive never given much thought to before
are forming the most intricate, delicate dance of fornication
This is too much for my mind,
and so I just sat and looked on in awe...this lasted for awhile so I unfortunately wasnt there for the seperation.
Now, Im lost in the realm of procreation, its consumed in my head every time I go back and imagine those delicate slugs.
Cats. Big, small, lions, cheetahs, tigers..I believe they all mate the same way.
A female goes into estrus, and males come rolling in from far and wide. Marking every guidepost along the way, announcing his arrival.
The Lioness lays comfortably in the shade, waiting to be presented her King.
And the brawl ensues. Maybe hours or days. Screaming and slashing, boasting and threatening.
And finally when the lesser males are too worn out, too ashamed, given up, deflated...
The big man with all the prowess grabs his woman with his teeth, mounting her, her resisting..testing if she approves.
They are loud and vicious when they finally get down to it. And persistent.
Days go by, they barely eat, they are barely concious of their surroundings, hormones driving them.
They mate, they rest, they fight, they mate, they rest.
And then its over just like nothing ever happened. And shes left alone to gestate the next generation.
Birds. Birds vary...dogs and cats can be predictable when it comes to making babies.
But birds have different rules. Alot of birds mate for life and are monogomous...better than humans at it too.
Swans are particularly faithful, and heartbroken when their mates die.
There is a type of male bird that will spend hours upon hours building elaborate, beautiful nests,
collecting pretty, colorful things...making a comfortable space to get it on with his lady.
And then the females browse the different nests looking for the perfect living space for a very important event.
Some birds dance, they show off every beautiful move they have to earn the heart and eggs of a woman.
And we all know peacocks. The males are burdened with being beautiful, trying to catch a pretty birds eye. Quite opposite of us peoples, huh?
I could go on...but just a few more points on procreation.
Penguins, males keeping the eggs, almost starving to death to make sure they hatch.
Crocodiles burying their eggs just offshore, and just waiting to take out predators looking for yummy croc eggs.
Octopi will do some craziness where the female starves herself to death to make sure her young hatch alive.
Male seahorses defying everything we know about life, carry the babies....if they can, why...??
Orcas will nurse for up to 5 years, even after another calf has been born. The females never leave the family.
Female hyenas have a 7 inch clitoris which they give birth out of, Im grateful to not be a hyena.
The strongest, largest shark in the womb will cannibalize its siblings. Survival of the fittest.
So now Humans.
We have hormones like all the other animals, we act on them, we procreate.
But its almost as if we do this slyly. Not everyone obviously-not aimed at people fighting to have a child.
We say were making love, connecting, feeling. But how much is truly lust, hormones and instinct?
We have similarities of all animals in our mating rituals, whether babies are in mind or not.
Men act tough, or try to look so slick. Women flirt and dance and wear bright shiny objects, like shes trying to lure a magpie not a partner.
And we have our fights, we get vicious and physical, we fight and we penetrate, fight and penetrate.
And then almost always someone walks away.
I always come back to the slugs.
Where there seems to be no pretension, no need for competition.
I could be so completly wrong about so many things.
But those slugs just seem to be doing something right.
Copyright © Gina Young
Long poem by
Laura Breidenthal | Details |
“Without you, now I see
How fragile the world can be
And I know you've gone away,
But in my heart you'll always stay” –Katie Melua
There is a peculiar feeling I remember experiencing when the news came
I suppose people who have experienced the sudden death of a loved one would understand
My heart grew heavy; my body felt weak…
Yet there was still a part of me that simply didn’t want to fully believe it
I felt as if my entire body was overflowing with black grief,
Swirling in circular motions all throughout my blood and brain
Stumbling with heightening realization and heartache,
I ran down the stairs and out the door
I searched around for him, scared to see him, but needing to see him…
My sister motioned over to where he was lying…
“No…no…” I ran across the street to him, and sat there at the curb staring at him
I cried out in utter shock and pain,
Sobbing at the sight of my cat stiff as stone, bloated and bloodied
I had never thought I would see him this way
His eyes were opened; a couple of flies were crawling on his ears,
And he was lying in a small puddle of brown liquid
I knew it was him even at a distance, but I had to check for certain
Perhaps there was hope…
As bad as it sounded, maybe it was another black cat…
Maybe Spy was still laying in the grass contently, safe from harm
Scaring away the large flies,
I felt his tail till I came to the very end of it, where I felt the bend
This little crook of the tail confirmed it was no other cat but Spy
Spy - the best cat I have ever had the pleasure to call my own
My tears fell upon his fur, the hot California sun beating down upon us
He was my best friend
He was my pride and joy…he was my sweet black cat,
And I loved him with all of my heart
I think Spy deserves recognition for what he has done for me and my family
Yes, he was just a cat, but to me, he was so much more than that
He was family, and he was the closest friend I could ever have
Sitting at the curb sobbing, barefoot, hair a mess, not caring who saw me,
I set my hand on the fur that wasn’t already damp and mucky
My original thought of someone running him over with a car disappeared immediately
Half his face was messed up
His teeth were shattered
Inconceivable pain still lingered on his dead, cloudy eyes
I lifted each of his paws, examining them, and saw that each claw was severed,
And shards of the claws dangled in various areas
Deep blade wounds were evident as well…
With a heartrending groan, I knew someone did this to him
And this understanding curdled my blood and rattled my bones
Someone had done this…
Honestly, I wanted to be angry at whoever was involved in the death of Spy,
But instead, all I could do was feel sadness and cry
A part of me blamed myself of course
I should have kept him inside…
I should have watched over him better…
I should have known something was wrong when he didn’t visit my room that night…
I should have...I should have...
But now it is just too late…
A man with a short brown beard, plaid shirt
And a navy blue hat approached me slowly,
Holding a shoebox, a sad expression on his face
"Here's... a box you can put him in," He said faintly.
Being shy, I didn't want to look at him, but I did,
And his eyes were glistening in sadness.
Still shaking with sobs, I thanked him
And began lifting Spy into the box
Rather a big cat, I had some difficulty,
But anything was better than leaving him there
Lying in the dirty gutter collecting flies and other insects
He said, "I am really sorry about your cat..."
There was a silence, save for my crying,
And he crouched down near me for a little while.
All I could give him was a weak "Thank you."
I wanted to hug him
To tell him that he was so kind to stop and help...
I think what we regret the most is not taking action,
Not saying the right words, or not being there at the right time
Yet he took action…a stranger, he was there for me,
And he cried with me….
What a blessing he was to me in that moment
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
Long poem by
Laura Breidenthal | Details |
I will never forget the Feast of Tabernacles at Lake Arrowhead
I spent my nights there in our beautiful rented house
With Spy loyally by my side
He slept on my bed and kept me feeling comfortable and happy
We cuddled close to each other during the cooler nights
When I begin to shiver slightly (I know, I’m such a Californian!)
He would warm me up, laying across my neck—a purring scarf
During my most emotional prayers, he was there,
And he looked at me curiously with his beautiful, yellow-green eyes
He never failed to make me smile wide
Throughout many hardships,
His presence and his love toward me kept me going
I know that the memory of him and all the good times we had
Will help me endure through the hardships coming
He grew up to be a very fine cat
He followed me everywhere it seemed, my second shadow
Friendlier than most cats I have owned in the past,
He got along with everyone in the family
People say that cats are very independent and moody
—I would say Spy was quite the opposite
When he met my friend Allie for the first time,
He immediately fell in love with her and rubbed against her legs
He even laid on his back showing her his belly
When we sat down, he would curl up beside us,
Watching inquiringly, wondering what we were doing
When six kittens were born on a lovely Sabbath day,
Spy would get inside the drawer they were in,
Curl up around them and keep them warm
Until the mother returned after her meals
He was a fantastic father to them, though he was scared at first,
Like I presume all fathers are to some degree
The only complaints I had for Spy were his morning rituals—
Desperate begging out of hunger at odd hours of the morning
He liked to lay on my head, yowl loudly in my ear, scratch the walls,
Or paw my face if I ignored him in my bed
Come to think of it, I also used to get so irritated my him
As I would descend down the stairs to my room
He would always have the need to race me to the bottom
No matter what he had to reach the bottom first and he never failed
One time, I was determined to beat him to the bottom,
So before he noticed I was shooting down the stairs,
I desperately fumbled down the stairway like a maniac
When I reached the last few steps, frenzied with soon-to-be glory,
Suddenly Spy leaped down the stairs, and jumped right off the side rail,
Landing on the bottom on all four feet, ensuring his vivacious victory
I must admit, it was pretty damn epic
Of course, a sore loser once again,
I gave up with a playful glower,
Scooping him in my arms, kissing him on the head
"You silly thing..." –
Was an expression often repeated on various occasions
It is hard to express how I feel
It is truly like losing a family member
Spy is gone now I can see the pain in each family member’s eyes
Especially after the trip to Arrowhead, Spy and I,
We were like two peas in a pod
Thank you for reading
I want all of you to know,
I am thankful to have you in my life
We are blessed to have each other
And to share experiences together
Let’s make the best out of this life
We never know what tomorrow will bring, but let us not fret
I am just happy I had the time I had with Spy
He will always be a huge part of my life
The beginning of Spy's life was a tragedy as well
He was thrown out of a moving car with four kittens, and left for dead
I was angry at the people then,
But now I am at peace,
I now pray earnestly for those that harm others
The fact that Spy suffered before his death severely saddens me
But I am comforted in the fact that he now rests peacefully
Spy Breidenthal May 2013-October 18, 2014
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
Long poem by
Dennis East | Details |
From the first day that we fetched it home, that cat, it hated me.
We chose it a neighbour's farm and brought it home for tea.
It ran for cover instantly we placed it on the floor,
Just like hiding from a sniper on the rooftops in a war.
The days would pass and it would only come out for its food,
So we kept in the kitchen where it hid and where it pooed,
And the only one that it would come out gingerly to see
Was my wife when she picked it up and held it on her knee.
I'll make it flipping love me, as I'll show it who's the boss;
I'll hold it and I'll stroke it - even though it makes it cross.
And then when it gets calm and nice, I'll let you have a try;
We'll make it bloody love us or we'll have to say, “Goodbye.”
Then three times every morning and three times every night,
She held that feline on her lap and stroked with all her might,
Until at last she broke its will; it purred and loved her back,
It let her do just what she would and all without a smack.
So then, at last, it's my turn to force it into love,
But first I had to catch the sod by pouncing from above.
Then try and try the best I could, it never took to me,
And though I stroked to Hell and back, it wasn't meant to be.
You know, I never gave that cat the cause to hate me like it did;
Not once did I forget to feed or find it when it hid.
And when we moved to Scotland, she spent three long weeks indoors,
So I used the time to bond with her by buttering her paws.
It's a trick my mother taught me and it's sure to bring her home,
Come field or glen or mountain top, wherever she might roam.
Seemed she liked her new surroundings, and set off to explore,
And quickly found a mouse and left its innards at the door.
It's just her way to pay us back; it's her way of showing love,
Not a sacrificial offering meant for something up above.
And then, at last, the final straw of putting down her roots,
For to clearly mark her boundaries, pissed in both my walking boots.
Now living by a main road is a challenge to a cat;
With three long years of running wild, took one last stroll and splat!
And the Scottish lady driver who had ended Phoebe's reign,
Had gathered up the gruesome bits and put them back again.
She said, "I have a pussycat mysell, and love it so devout
And I'm really pished I ran yours doon and turned it inside out.”
So I gathered up the poor wee cat and set off with my spade;
I'd find a wet spot near the loch - a leafy little glade.
But just as I was on my way to dig the cat a plot,
My wife put on my handbrake, as she knew the perfect spot.
“We want the cat to feel at home- I know where it should be:
The grassy spot where she hung out to watch the birds and pee.”
The cat had picked its place to lay, to look down on us all,
That just left me to dig the hole and have myself a ball.
At first it felt quite easy, as the grass was nice and thick,
But underneath were great big rocks, so I had to swing my pick.
And when the rocks were out the way, I was halted in my tracks,
For huge tree roots criss-crossed the hole, and I had to fetch my axe.
So I swung the axe and chopped away at roots so hard and fat,
Until at last I'd cut a hole the size to take the cat.
I grabbed my spade and scraped away, then much to my surprise,
I saw a sight to chill my soul right there before my eyes.
For where I'd picked and chopped and dug as hard as I was able,
‘Twas all around, my instant death: our home’s electric cable!
I should have listened to myself and slung it in the pond
As I very nearly joined that cat as it reached out from Beyond.
Copyright © Dennis East
Long poem by
Shadow Hamilton | Details |
I am a big admirer of all large cats, one of my favourites being the Scottish Wild Cat.
It is one of the wildest of all cats and will fight to the death to protect its kitten even with a golden eagle. It avoids humans like the plague preferring to live a solitary life.
They have survived human for over 500 years longer than the wolf and over 1000 years more than the bear and british lynx. They have been on the planet for millions of years before either humans or domestic cats.
They look much like a tabby but gait like a big cat, males weigh between 6-9kg, females smaller 5-7kg. They have rotating wrists and razor sharp claws for gripping and climbing trees. Fossil remains have been found measuring 4 feet.
They can sprint at 30mph and fall from massive heights landing on their feet, they are a stealth hunter and mainly nocturnal covering up to 10km range. Even when born in captivity they are un-tamable.
They charge when fighting but don't lie on their sides like domestic cats.. Renowned for biting right through gauntlets vets dart if they have to handle them.
Wild Cats enjoy their own space and daily schedules. They like things to be peaceful so live as far from humans as possible. Usually heavily forested and near water, they frequently change dens.
They are a friend of crop farmers by keeping down rabbits etc. They only eat meat consuming most if not all of what they kill. Killing by grabbing prey and pulling it down then biting through either neck or spine.
Wild Cats like to fish by using their paws to scoop out fish, and like eels, lizards and frogs. Their other food is small deer, ground birds and hares, nowadays they rarely take a lamb seeming to know the farmer will try to kill them. Most Scottish farmers are proud to have a Wild Cat on their land.
Their night vision is exceptional about seven better than ours. They can rotate their ears 180 degrees enabling them to hear all around them. They then triangulate and pinpoint the source, and exceptional balance as well make it a super predator.
Some Facts taken ad lib
Mating season: January to March, most births in April to May
Oestrus: 2 to 8 days, in presence of males
Gestation: 63 to 68 days
Litter size: Mean 3.4, range 1 to 8
Age at independence: 4 to 5 months, up to 10 months
Age at sexual maturity: Females 10 to 12 months, males 9 to 10 months
Inter birth interval: one year, females can only exceptionally breed twice in one year, such as when the first litter is lost
Mortality: Studies suggest human caused mortality (snares, roads, gunshot) account for up to 92% of deaths
Longevity: Probably around 6 to 8 years in the wild, up to 15 years in captivity
Usually one litter a year with 3-4 kittens born in early spring, they learn to hunt from roughly 7-9 weeks old by the mother bringing home live prey then with her becoming independent around 5-6 months.
This just scrapes the surface of this fascinating cat. I think the following quote sums them up well
"They'll fight to the death for their freedom; they epitomise what it takes to be truly free I think."
If interested you will find most if not all you want to know on this site
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
It seems like just the other day
Our pup, Shadrack, did pass away;
And altho’ they never seemed like friends,
My old cat, Jorg, knew Shad had met
his untimely end.
He mourned his loss every day
And looked for Shadrack everywhere.
He’d mew and moan as if to say,
“We were friends. I do care.”
Then one night, an eerie howl
Awoke me from my sleep.
He’d found Shad’s toys and left no doubt
That his feelings did run deep.
So our tedious search began
To find another likely pup;
But while my poor wife still grieved,
Could another measure up?
We went to Second Chance and Free to Live.
She just could not make up her mind.
She loved them all; but, if she picked just one,
The rest would have to stay behind.
Then, quite by chance, there was a “pound pup”
Who’d been picked up from the streets.
He was a mutt, a “schnauza-pug”;
But he was awfully sweet.
He jumped up and kissed her frantically.
He seemed aware of his “iffy” situation.
He made the best of his opportunity.
Tears of joy told her elation.
“This is the one”, she smiled through tears,
As she held him oh, so tight.
“I’m sure that Jorg will like him too.
Everything will be alright”.
And so it was, until one day
When old Jorg did pass away…
There was no hesitation on this sad occasion;
Come Saturday morning, we went straight
to the pound,
Open minded and hoping to be “saviors”,
Surely a nice cat was to be found.
“Sadly”, the lady said,” three kitties have only today.
There’s Andre and Panda and another one too”.
My wife smiled and said, “Jorg was your boy. You pick.
They’re both beautiful cats. It’s up to you”.
As I pondered this commitment
Another cat, a young one, caught my eye.
Like Jorg, he was a common gray tabby.
Fond memories were stirred. I almost cried.
On closer look, his name was Boris;
And, strangely, he was number three.
There was a small sign on his crate,
“I don’t like other cats and other cats don’t like me”.
But there was character in his eyes and he was cute.
He was rolling and purring and stretching.
He seemed to look deep into my heart
And did his best to be quite fetching.
But because he was just a common gray tabby,
And because of the little sign,
His chances were slim, his future quite dim
And one day is precious little time.
For a moment I was lost in his eyes
And I heard his desperate plea,
“I’m a swell cat and litter box trained.
Take me. Please, take me”.
“Well”, my wife urged, “is it Andre or Panda”?
“One of us will take the other kitty.”, two older ladies chimed.
“You can each have one ladies”, I said with a smile.
I want Boris and he wants to be mine”.
In just hours he was romping and rolling with Pepper,
Who had happily welcomed his new friend.
Boris was a perfect fit, an affirmation;
The Circle of Life never ends.
Much more Joy than Sadness in this Circle,
And there should never be regrets.
Honor their memories and all the love they share,
Never break the Circle, never be without a Pet.
Copyright © Robert Candler
Long poem by
Carol Eastman | Details |
On a cold, cold night with a touch of snow, a cat wished quietly and sadly for a home.
For a year he’d found nowhere with love to call home. Yes, he’d been, so very, very alone.
He lived under a deserted car now, where his family had lived long ago, for a while.
They were now gone to a new home, and he feared, he couldn’t carry on without them, my dear.
So before going to bed he wished on a star, which appeared ever so brightly above, from far.
All he wanted from anyone was some food, and to sleep next to a warm, warm fire, too.
As he fell asleep he also wished for a hand to touch his fur, gently and kindly, again.
Then he awoke to a sound he’d heard once before, as Christmas bells had tolled, long ago… He was sure.
That night an old man in red had come from out of nowhere, to take his family a new home, so fair.
Scared by the sleigh and the reindeer he drove, the cat had run away, that I know to be true.
But not any more would he run away, his legs would no longer take him very far, any way.
He grabbed all his courage and around he snuck, until hiding under a bush nicely tucked.
There before him was a jolly old man with his reindeer and sleigh lined up, yes, again.
The man was dressed in warm, warm clothes, and stopped to lay down a beautiful bowl.
The man then turned away to do business forthright, inside the neighboring house that night.
I swear on my heart that this is ever so true, as the cat crept closer giving curiosity it’s due.
Coming closer he could sense the most wonderful smell, calling him forward, as if under a spell.
The bowl was filled with warm, warm cream, which he licked up fast as if caught in a dream.
Moments later the man came from that house, with a smile and a wink for that dear old cat.
The man in red picked up the bowl with a quiet demand, urging him gently to stroll to his hand.
Now was the dilemma to run, or to stay, but it was the large shining star that decided it all that day.
As he stood before that great big man in red, the star beckoned brightly from behind the man’s head.
The cats’ fears left as the man stayed with a smile and a grin, and a Ho Ho Ho that day, my friend.
He realized here was the home he’d wanted for so long, and had dreamt in his head, where he could belong.
Some how, he knew he’d be safe in that beautiful sled, and warm in that coat the color of red.
He came forward to lick and nuzzle the man, as yes; he was picked up gently, in his hand.
The jolly old man put him snug in his coat, as a red nosed reindeer winked from the front, I must note.
Then the man climbed in and sent forward the sleigh, as the cat curled up to sleep, the rest of the way.
Miracles can happen each day, at the hand of others who are wise and kind, I say.
This jolly old man was right in this deed, and ever so wise to stop and kind to care, you see…
So I’ll let you in on a little secret I know…
They lived happily ever after, at the North Pole.
Copyright © Carol Eastman