Jami Patterson Poet Narrative

Purr cival

The autumn leaves skitter like mice across stone,
And the doorstep is chilly, and dark, and alone.
I have scratched at the wood, I have mewed at the latch,
In the chilly night wind of the pumpkin-patch batch.
They left me outside in the frost and the gloom—
The orange-and-black beasts have taken my room!
Two giant tin kettles came clattering past,
And a small bedsheet ghost went floating on fast.
There’s a witch with broom bristles that smelled like old hay,
And a skeleton monster that shouted, "Hooray!"
My tabby stripes bristle, my green eyes go wide;
Why are all of these creatures allowed to be inside?
I crouch under bushes where dark shadows lie,
Watching fake-spider webs drift under the sky.
There’s a glowing orange head grinning wide on the porch,
With a flicker of flame like a tiny, mean torch.
I am king of the sofa, the lord of the rug—
Now I’m shivering cold, longing for a warm hug!
Then the front door clicks open! A warm beam of light!
My human steps out in the spooky, cold night.
I dart past her slippers, a blur of striped gray,
And streak for the kitchen to hide straight away.
Safe under the couch from the trick-or-treat fright,
A cat’s proper place on a Halloween night.

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