Dyed with the dark night
Your black pupils can see through
The sunlight’s secrets
Focus On The Good Things, Mommy
Focus on the good things, Mommy,
focus on me, when you’re tired and
never want to leave this bed again,
crying about things I don’t understand,
heavy human words that fly over my head
Focus on the good things, Mommy,
focus on me, the little warm
bundle in your lap, on your heart
purring remedies into your bones
listening with poised ears to your breaths
coming longer, quieter, calmer,
as we settle down into snuggles
Focus on the good things, Mommy,
focus on me, my little face gazing up at you,
radiant, whisker-framed,
my paws and pink toe beans,
my tail tucked in so perfectly
Focus on the good things, Mommy,
focus on me–
the little soul that follows
you every night, every step
to snuggle close and purr
until you smile again
Focus on the good things, Mommy,
focus on me, and sleep well,
knowing that I am here
and I love you
Cattitudes
life’s too short not to try to have fun
to scamper at midnight
and lounge in the sun
dreaming of birds
and a great hunting plain
zebras and lions and me in a mane
I’m a king, I’m a god,
there’s nobody better
if you have a complaint,
go mail me a letter
I’m not gonna read it
not even a word
I’ll shred it and eat it and make it a turd
too many things,
too many happenings
I’m busy, you see,
eating and napping
and playing and scratching
and snuggling and running
chaos and crazy, just how I like it
if life doesn’t work, it’s simple–just bite it
too busy to stop
too busy to care
I’m a cat, after all,
I’m proud everywhere
I do what I do
and I’m good at it all
I’m a cat and I’m proud
my tail standing tall
Carnivore Wallpaper
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
— William Blake
Mom says auburn kid was born an animal she can’t
handle (but not bad) with tiger T-shirts on
first birthday and arrival of first baby to prove it.
My little sister got earth-tone puppies or kittens
but Pops insisted as their firstborn son
his room needed to be toughen up burnt orange.
With that as our Blakean beginning, I learned
how to fear and loathe my father Bernard
which carried over hunting Bernie until you died.
Then our surprise: after there was no breath —
so relieved, finally – Papa’s blue eyes
opened then looked more radiant than any sky.
Sir Socks Le Chat 