breeze blows through the house
cats fur swept up like vacuum
spiraled silver streaks
Of all the animals I could be,
which one would fill me with glee?
No fur here with a flea,
maybe smooth skin is the key.
I would love to see,
the great big blue sea.
Cool pretty water I would love to feel,
it makes me want to real.
With friends I can play and squeal,
as a fish we will steal.
I feel like a big wheel,
even through I am just a cute little seal.
Across my room is my little trusty dog
Furs around my bed while he sleeps like a log
I see he made my shoe his own chewy toy;
Lines here and there like an ill mannered boy.
Laundry stacked on one side with socks sticking out,
Their eyes stare from the heap, haughty and proud.
Though not often I meet this hallowed mess,
Like caught in a furry induced stress-tide
I pet my furry one and bring him a treat
For he's the only one I will gladly repeat
A little cat begins to purr.
She has the softest orange
fur.
I love to sit and play with her.
Glory be to God
Who created this beauty ~
yellow coat of fur!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mad Marge, a squirrel with a daring soul,
at the wheel, she always lost control.
Through the car wash, she did dash,
in her tiny, souped-up green Nash.
It's March! she cried with glee,
It’s top-down weather; I’m wild and free!
Huge bristly brushes whirled for all to see.
Oh, the foam and jets! My car looks like a Humvee!
Marge emerged clean, her fur a shining sight,
her green Nash, a dazzling delight.
She sped away, her fur nothing but a blur,
March madness, fur sure, fur sure!
god-given
luscious coat of fur
ready for any Siberian storm
~ let it snow
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
polar bear up north
posing for the camera
dressed for warmth in fur
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Why do I like you? I dunno.
Maybe it's the way your bloomers show.
In your Scottish dancing clogs yer
smoother than a seal or frog's fur.
Dedicated to Mooney who is up in cat heaven ~
norwegian fur ball
intelligent and cunning
feline soul sister
AP: 1st place 2025
Here's a tale of a Rogue Rabbit,
Met a hoodie paschal hermit,
She overcame all her fears,
She munched him, from toes to ears,
Ate the lot, begone, foul furry git!
She was old, very old, frail and weak but still beautiful,
I recall holding her as a new born kitten;
so delightful to watch her play and do silly things,
growing up to be so graceful in her movements.
Always a lover of cuddling, purring even at twenty;
I held her until her last breath and then for hours.
They said this strange man ate his squirrel:
such a lovely arboreal rodent, a creature that nibbles.
First he eats its legs, then its body,
but omits the heart. That is precious.
What? We do not eat a squirrel?
Boiled, broiled, roasted or raw? With sprinkles?
There are strange people who choose
certain creatures of fur. But never one that gnaws?
And those spirited, spunky sprinkles?
There are strange folk who resist a pitter-patter,
with or without a squirrel, whether it be boiled or broiled,
even roasted or raw - without those sprinkles
and, of course, those spatters.
There are funny folk.
They don’t eat an arboreal gnawer?
And do we think of Gnawer and his ark - with squirrels?
So odd how we ponder
on creatures of fur, with or without
those spirited, spunky sprinkles.
Brains do the oddest of things.
(20 Sep 2024)
On Tuesday night I had to stay up late
I needed to see who'd win the debate
But I don't want to talk about that
I just want to know who ate my cat
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