To The Dog Lover:
I hear you when you say the cat
--she that walks upon the roof with ease,
under the blue moon with itÂ’s trap of sky,
as if waiting for a mouse to come
and steal the prize of cheese--
if fully loaded artillery,
and should be
approached with caution.
IÂ’ll tell you, as you sit there,
your mouth all teeth,
of a man I once knew,
who befriended by a herring-bone feline
--aged as a fine Merlot,
or round of Brie--
told me he had learned early
never to pet an upside down cat.
That a cat with her whiskers
pointed towards the sun,
an array of thin silver spears,
is decidedly deadly arsenal.
And maybe IÂ’ll admit its true,
you shouldnÂ’t let her fool you,
with her soft fur, a lure for sure
set to detonate,
if tampered with; but then
perhaps you shouldnÂ’t tamper.
So I tell you when you say to me the cat
--she that claws her artful way
up the backdoor screen in mid-July,
as if attempting to take flight
with the passing Jays,
and reckless Juncos;
teeth such piercing ammunition--
I tell you,
and all the others too
--that she with such intensity of spirit,
dogged in her mission to live,
and live well--
should be well admired,
if only from a distance.