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.
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.
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.
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
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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.
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.
Long poem by
Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Details |
She’s out there chasing a cricket
Through bush, through shrub & through thicket
Together they hop
But when she gets it, she just wants to lick it!
A cat whose vet took his eye
Just cannot quite understand why
His eye’s been enucleated,
3-D vision reduciated,
So now, he keeps an eye out for an eye
Ya gotta keep limericks loose
Think green eggs, or perhaps Dr. Seuss
They’re structured, it’s true,
But they’re also a zoo
Whose tenants are all on the loose!
I frolic in fountains of words
Overflowing with serious absurds
Each poem I write
Wakes up and takes flight
Joining angels and faeries and birds
You ask that we write a good limerick
How to do so, I haven’t a glimmerick
So I struggle and frown
Teaching poems to clown
So a smile on your lips will be shimmerick
A cat with a mouth full of mouse
Brought her feast right into my house
She played with her food
Who was not in the mood
To be a banquet of mouse in the house
The nightmares that shadow my sleep
Stampede the proverbial sheep
Right out of my mind
When I try to unwind
I find my appointment with sleep hard to keep
In her search for original truth
She met people unsavory and couth
She knitted and purled
But only unfurled
Yarns told by new age and old youth
Cat, suddenly pink,
Drinks her water from out of the sink
She looks so absurd
Since she’s been de-furred
I really don’t know what to think!
If one and one is two and two is four,
And there’s only two ways to go through a door,
Then, is earth up or down?
And, where is down town?
These are questions we need to explore!
A was that is an is
Tried to mind my biz
But I sent it packing,
Its presence was lacking
And I don’t have time for such shiz!
A couple who lived in Los Lunas
Loved the wide desert sky’s crystal blueness
They’d stare at the air,
Over here, over there
And rejoice at the feeling of newness
A cat with a very fat gut
Found it easier to walk on his butt
He’d drag it around
Across carpet and ground
And use it to slam the doors shut
Said the Missus to her dear Mr. Otter,
“There’s something I think that you oughta
Do before we get old
To protect us from cold –
You oughta make the hot water hotter!”
The ghosts who live up in my attic
Make noises that sound much like static
I’ve tried to send them away,
But they’re here to stay,
Those staticky ghosts in my attic
Long poem by
julie Cottingham | Details |
Standing round the ritual fire, white smoke then black entwinning higher, she takes the
book up from the floor, the spell to open heavens door,
This chant kept secret for so long, in her evil hands did not belong, her intentions were
to create despair, her words to be carried upwards on cold night air.
Without a hint of hesitation, she began the ancient incantation...
"I have bathed in water near, that crystal clear my words you'll hear, to the eyes of this
enchanted seer, heavens entrance now appear"
She waited as her words ascended, to fuflill the wrath that she intended, with
anticipation as she watched, the door appeared, but it was locked.
"This can not be right" the seer spat, her temper unleashed upon her cat, "I saw no
mention in the book, but wait I'll take another look"
She read again the spell she'd cast, 'To obtain the key you need a cat'
How could I of missed that line, she wondered as she sipped her wine, her cat already had
run away, maybe there was another way?
"To gain the key to heavens door I cast this spell just once more, with the crucial part
evading me, instead of a cat I use this bee"
With eyes a glow she watched and waited, the key soon to appear she anticipated, in a puff
of smoke that cleared to see, her spell had summoned up an old oak tree.
It's branches thick, it's leaves so green, much taller than she'd ever seen, on the
highest branch could it be? a golden glistening hanging key.
She knew now what must be done, began climbing branches, one by one, "this tree will not
get the best of me, I am going to have that key"
Closer and closer, going higher and higher, evil spurned her on with it's desire.
At last a branch away the key, she was mesmerised by what she see's, she reached out her
hand without a sound, as the key suddenly fell to the ground.
"Damn and blast, what game is this", she cursed and ranted, spat and hissed, with angry
words, her face a frown, she began her long descent down.
Finally she reached the base, out of breath and flushed of face, she looked around but
could not see, where was that damned elusive key.
For years that followed she looked and searched, from north to east upon the earth, from
south to west and back again, she never saw that key again.
What happened to the key you ask?I thought you may of wondered that, the answer is within
the spell, you must of worked it out by now,
'To obtain the key you need a cat' surely you remember that, he caught the key as it fell,
and where is pussy? he's down the well!
Long poem by
Kathleen Callaway | Details |
Attention seeking gets rewarded so use anything that works.
Baby humans can be dangerous, especially for tails, ears and whiskers, so watch out!
Cats are masters and rule, everyone else follows, period!
Dogs are great for teasing, blaming, stealing good food from and the lowest species, period!
Eating well is an art so snub dry food and play sickly to get better quality.
Furniture is wonderful for climbing, attacking, napping and removing hair all over.
Going to the vet is NOT fun so PROTEST VIGOROUSLY!
Human hands are designed for petting, rubbing, carrying, and scratching cats.
Investigate EVERYTHING, EVERWHERE, and ALWAYS!
Jumping from various heights without knocking stuff down is a talent, but if something breaks find the nearest human and love them to death!
Keep claws sharp by scratching a variety of materials, furniture, walls, and floor coverings
Leave gifts for humans to help them feel loved-like dead animals; prove amazing hunting skills and keep them in line.
Messy meals and litter boxes aren't allowed but if there's a dog around and something else happens, use the scapegoat ploy(with innocent look thrown in).
Napping 80% of each day is essential for physical and mental health so don't skimp.
Owning humans is an important responsibility; play, snuggle, entertain, keep happy but avoid hissing off at them!
Purring while snuggled and gazing up at humans will delight and make them easier to control but be careful one doesn't become too attached and lose control.
Quiet meows, a sad look, waving a paw while one is on their back playing helpless makes upset humans happier
Remember, don't be nasty for life can get MUCH SHORTER.
Staring out windows while planning on ruling Earth or torturing lesser species is awesome; so practice!
Tongue drooling or hanging out is for dogs or dumb felines; awesome cats tuck it in.
Until further notice: all humans from youngest to oldest, need training to serve the Master Cat race.
Viciousness is forbidden; cats acting so get ranked lower than a puppy...forever.
When choosing napping spots remember, size IS important; where tiniest or biggest humans sleeps IS the perfect place.
Xanthouse is just one color cats appreciate so experiment redecorating the home while exploring.
Yikes, if litter boxes fill up it means new pooping piles must be left elsewhere like planters, closets and bedrooms.
Zits, bug bites, other sores, or just plain dirt- humans lack an adequate tongue and need professional tongue licking help!
Long poem by
Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Details |
A little worm about three inches long
Hairy, weak thing not very strong
Five meters would be an all day trip
For the worm moved by pulling itself along just by its top lip
I’m tired of this crawling about, it wears me out
I have no legs or feet and move with the lip of my mouth
I wish something would just eat me, I’d be so glad
Or I wish I could grow legs, my mouth is feeling bad
While worm complained about its pains to you and me
A robin stalked worm a juicy dinner you see
Robin swooped down, picked up worm with its beak
And swallowed and thought that was quick
But the hairs on worm got stuck in the robin’s throat
Sweat from worm caused the robin’s tummy to bloat
Robin fell to the ground with an eye popping stare
I think this worm's trying to kill me I swear
Robin hit itself on the back to free him from this pickle
For the hairs, they began to tickle
This worm must come out; it is making me cry
If it doesn’t come out soon, I'll surely die
In all the commotion cat watched robin close by,
A juicy robin that was choking, and couldn't fly
Robin for dinner, could it be so easy?
Not to big not to small, I won’t feel queasy
Cat walked to robin and picked him up in its mouth
Swallowed, and robin was going south
Robin was wriggling and kicking
Robin stuck cat’s throat and was squeaking.
Robin cried Just my luck I’m choked by a worm and eaten by a cat
I thought my chances for survival would be better than that
Cat felt rough as the robin scratched inside its neck
Cat was spat what the heck
I have eaten birds but this one is tough
My throat is scratchy and it feels all rough
This bird will be the death of me, if I live, this is last one
I prefer a mouse and birds I am done
When cat had finished everything went dark
Cat heard a yelp and a bark
For goodness sakes this couldn't get worse
Choked by a bird, eaten by a dog, what is all this?
Dog went coughing and choking
He nudged the boy and poked
The boy gave him a hard whack
Out popped cat, robin and worm from the whack on His back
Save us from this horrid choking thing
The boy, dog and cat ran, robin took to the wing
Worm said Alas I thought my wish came true
The hairs on me stopped me from been eaten, boohoo
The boy and the dog and the cat tried once
I thought the robin would have a better chance
Little worm noticed something was wrong
I got legs, I got legs and started singing a song
I am a creature feared by all
A creature so small
*had to take a lot out*