Saturday, 2 March 2013

Cat


Cat in the window, like a birthday card,
Bewitched by the birds and their sudden movement,
Sitting and purring and thinking quite hard,
And watching the rainbows on the curtain,
Caused by the light rays through the decanter,
And lustres from the oil lamp,
Thinking and purring and trying to be certain,
Thinking and purring and trying to decide,
The urgent dilemma of the moment:
Whether to pounce on the shifting sunlight,
Or whether he really should de-camp,
To take the morning air outside,
Absorbing the heat like a solar panel,
Hoping perhaps for a chance encounter,
With a soft, caressing human hand.
When all in a flash, his tongue, like a flannel,
Whips out and suddenly comes to land,
On a place on his back where he feels an itch is,
And in this moment he knows what is right.
He knows if he is to find great riches,
He must venture forth to the bird-table place,
Swiftly, silently, leaving no imprint.
And there with his skill and elegant grace,
He must leap and strike and snap and kill.
For he knows with his excellent instinct,
He knows it and suddenly grows bolder,
That to act and to act with intention,
And to do so without intervention,
Of conscience, or guilt or self loathing,
And without looking over his shoulder,
(And without the appropriate clothing!)
To achieve things by sheer strength of will,
Is better by far than just watching,
Watching and sitting still.

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