My Extremes
Yes, I talk to my cat...
it’s good therapy and
soothes her wandering...claws.
Over the years I’ve exercised
my imagination on her neurons.
I’ve told here things you
would not believe,
it’s for a good laugh.
She’s fascinated whenever
the furnace comes on and goes off;
I tell her, “It’s okay, it’s just
the dragon downstairs.
He keeps us warm by
blowing his fiery breath.
Since he’s a small dragon,
he’s not likely to start any fire.”
Her separation anxiety
could deafen the neighbors,
but it drives me batty.
She’s always in my lap,
yawning...I say,
“I watch out!
Your head could snap backwards
and you could accidentally
swallow yourself and
how would we get you out?”
We don’t have birthday’s
we have, “bird-days” and
add on a bird every year;
all for the cat.
Some days we go
mousey hunting...
opening every door on everything;
peering inside calling...
”Mousey! Where are you?”
Lifting the corners of carpets;
peering into boxes.
Of course, we only find them if
I’ve been to the pet store for a supply.
Boy, the crap I dish out
to keep her calm.
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