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Aunt Martas Cat House
Aunt Marta’s instructions blew out the window
Seconds before I got to her home in Glasgow.
I knew I was on the right block, but which one was she?
I heard a tiny mewing kitten, who tried to lead me.
Who is your mistress? Could it be my Aunt? I asked.
Scooped up wiggling scared kitten, no dauntless task.
Aunt Marta came to greet me at her gate with a cat.
I was worried, she said, wondering where you were at.
I handed the kitten over and began to sneeze.
Maybe it is all the flowers, pollen on the breeze.
It’s probably the cats, she said leading me into the house.
With hundreds of kittens, I doubt that she has a mouse.
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
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