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Orange lantern eyes

reveal a bright wild soul

Beautiful Monster


Familiar Spirits

My eyes caress her

Silky fur felt in the soul

We’re familiar


How quickly she’s adjusted

to the warmth for which she lusted.

Finding her joy in a name

and in a love she can claim.

Surprised to find she’s safe,

that she’s no longer just a waif.

She’s losing her sorrows

in the certainty of her tomorrows-

that there’ll be food in her belly,

and a soft place to watch telly.

Pop-pop, the Pajama Cat

Pop-pop, the Pajama Cat

He’s a pajama cat,

a bit saggy in the knees.

His middle’s kinda fat,

sneaking, eating too much cheese.

He’d look fine in a hat,

except cats do as they please,

so he’s more apt to chat

in dainty slippers, like these,

or sporting a cravat.

High fashion, in some countries.


He chases all the girls

but has hardly any luck,

though he dips and twirls.

He’s really not a hunk.

When they mock his neat curls

or when they’re quite clearly struck

by his string of rare pearls

he cries, then gets very drunk

and dances ‘til he hurls,

or his fancy pumps get stuck.


Sometimes he prowls around

clad in a grocery sack.

Sometimes worn like a crown,

or else Supercat attack.

He’s looking to astound

with his clever fashion hack.

He usually ends up bound

up in the sack, without much slack,

begging help from the hound

who frees him with a smack thwack.


To the friends in his head

he’s loyal when they’re in need.

He tucks them into bed,

he fulfills their every need.

He checks the mirror for Fred,

he pays for all their weed,

and gives them stuff to shred.

Pop Pop’s friends are real indeed,

at least that’s what he said

when he left in his best tweed.

For Sage

For Sage

No one knew her history.

No one knew her name.

She was old and whiskery,

yet no one for her, came.


The kitty was on discount.

We saw her through the bars,

so frail, and of small account,

but eyes like forming stars.


We brought her home that same night,

already so in love.

We learned she had little sight,

or much health to speak of.


She was sassy for her age.

She was bossy as hell.

She was full of fire,  our Sage

with her old lady smell.


At night, whiskers in my ear

or a weight on my chest,

letting me know she was near

‘fore going to her rest.


With each and every morning

came her yowl at the door.

“You’ll be late,” she was warning,

“And my food, I need more!”


From the beginning we knew

our time would be too brief.

Each moment with Sage flew,

turns out, time is a thief.


Just because I know it’s right

doesn’t make it simple.

You’ve given all to this fight,

it’s time, I’ve your signal.


Now, Sage, I’m putting off sleep,

it’s my last night with you.

There is naught to do but weep,

my heart is broke in two.


So Sage,  here is my goodbye.

This is my love letter,

my vow, my last lullaby-

I’ll love you forever.

The Cat in the Shack

Dedicated to all of the lost and unloved pets.

Newborn Kitten

It was such a cold night,
and the storm, was quite a fright.
All the trees were thrashing,
and a fierce wind was lashing
at the loose wooden slats
of an old, decrepit shack.

The roof was sagging in
and had long since lost it’s tin.
The windows were broken,
and the door hung wide open,
dangling from one sad hinge.
In the wind it seemed to cringe.

It was on this raw night,
that this shed lessened the plight
of one, very small cat;
thin, but her belly was fat.
‘Fore long, she’d be a mom,
but she wasn’t very strong.

Coming in from the storm,
it felt so wonderfully warm.
Maybe, she’d be alright
if she could survive tonight.
Courage rose up inside,
that would not soon subside.

The tiny cat soon found
a, very nearly, dry mound
of leaves and sweet wrappers,
and she almost gave some purrs
as she calmly laid down.
Ere long, she was labor bound.

The storm was at it’s height
while mom pushed with all her might.
Lightning lit up the sky
and the thunder crashed nearby
as the first kitten came.
A mother, without acclaim.

The storm had finally gone
leaving behind a red dawn,
and three minute kittens.
Completely helpless orphans,
still crying for their mom,
still snuggled, to her bosom.