The Comet-Watchers

Green-eyed,
aloof,
prowling heaven’s alleyways
with unexpected  grace
you take your ease on Saturn’s stoop
then roam again the darkness,
an elegant, celestial stray hungry for attention.

Prone beneath your pathway,
curbstone-pillowed, concrete bound,
I squint and ponder
remembered charts,
tracing your silent route through time
until I feel a tug
and hear the tiny, worried voice.

An earthbound stray has found her friend,
her source of food
and solace
no longer rising tall against the sky but flattened to the ground,
eyes turned upward,
head bent back as though the victim of a fall.

Green eyes wide,
she nudges hard against my pillowed head,
pushes back dismissive hands.

Importunate,
insistent,
she bites and tugs my hair as though to pull me upright,
rescuing her realm
from a universe gone mad.

I leave the comet to its flight
and offer consolation to this nearer, living world.
“Look up,”  I murmur,
running hands through fur that sparks
and shines like starlight in her eyes.
“A thousand years are passing.
A thousand years have passed.”

This older poem was substantially re-written after I became intrigued by  A Milkweed Comet  on Steve Schwartzman’s “Portraits of Wildflowers” blog.  Comments always are welcome. To leave a comment or respond, please click below.

Even Cats Crave Christmas!

Laugh at the antlers if you will, but laugh at your peril. That business-like look in the eyes of my beautiful calico is very real. Dixie Rose (short for Dixie-Rose-Center-of-the-Universe-and-Queen-of-all-She-Surveys) loves Christmas, and she intends to be ready when it arrives. Do not stand in her way.

Dixie arrived at my door as an unloved, four-month-old stray who became my first real pet. As a child I did receive a small painted turtle, but the poor thing met a most unfortunate end. My birthday puppy lasted only hours. A tiny but exceedingly enthusiastic black Cocker Spaniel, the pup terrified me and was sent packing by disconsolate adults.

Later, I raised a fox squirrel and laughed my way through four years with a prairie dog, but my relationship with Dixie Rose is of a different order entirely. I believe her to be the most beautiful and most clever creature on four paws. I don’t think she’s the most spoiled creature in the world, but we’re working on it – diligently.

Here Comes Santa Cat!

Laugh at the antlers if you will, but laugh at your peril. That business-like look in the eyes of my beautiful calico is very real. Her name is Dixie Rose (short for Dixie-Rose-Center-of-the-Universe-and-Queen-of-all-She-Surveys), She loves Christmas, and she intends to be ready when it arrives. Do not stand in her way.

Dixie arrived at my door as an unloved, four-month-old stray, and quickly became my first real pet. As a child I received a small painted turtle, which met a most unfortunate end, and a birthday puppy, but the pup lasted only hours. A tiny but exceedingly enthusiastic black Cocker Spaniel, he terrified me and was sent packing.

Later, I raised a fox squirrel and laughed my way through four years with a prairie dog, but my relationship with Dixie Rose is of a different order entirely. I believe her to be the most beautiful and most clever creature on four paws. I don’t think she’s the most spoiled creature in the world, but we’re working on it – diligently.

Waiting for Santa Cat…

Laugh at the antlers if you will, but laugh at your peril.  That business-like look in the eyes of my beautiful calico is very real. Her name is Dixie Rose  (short for Dixie-Rose-Center-of-the-Universe-and-Queen-of-all-She-Surveys), She loves Christmas, and she intends to be ready when it arrives. Do not stand in her way.

Dixie came into my life as an unloved, four-month-old stray, and quickly became my first real pet. In childhood, I received a small painted turtle which met a most unfortunate end and a small black birthday puppy, but the pup lasted only hours.  Tiny but exceedingly enthusiastic, he terrified me and was sent packing. Later, I raised a fox squirrel and laughed my way through four years with a prairie dog, but my relationship with Dixie Rose is of a different order entirely. Like a favored first child or grandchild, I believe her to be the most beautiful and most clever creature on four paws. I don’t think she’s the most spoiled creature in the world, but we’re working on it – diligently.

The Art of Winter

Grown to middle age, my calico is placid and content. She spends her days searching for perfect napping spots, occasionally indulging herself in bird-watching at the window. Long past the enthusiasms of kittenhood, her favorite excitement is shredding cheap tissue paper. She prefers white, although she’ll work with colored if forced, and each Sunday morning she gets a dozen sheets. For the next week she rolls in it, hides under it, buries toys in it and claws at it, until nothing is left but ribbony shreds and bits of paper.

Despite her increasing years and even temper, she dislikes every sort of storm. Lightning brings her to electrified attention. Thunder triples the size of her tail in a flash. The approach of a winter cold front sets her pacing for days. Once a low crosses the Red River, she begins to move restlessly from room to room. By the time it gets to Dallas, she’s tearing full-tilt through the house, circling around and around until she collapses in a panting heap.

She’s survived several tropical storms and two hurricane evacuations, and what she lacks in scientific knowledge she makes up for in pure instinct and experience – she knows storms are bad. When her people begin to fuss and mutter about systems still hundreds of miles away, she’ll head to her carrier, snuggle down into her sheepskin and wait it out: wide-eyed and anxious, uttering the low, undeciperable sounds she reserves for rising storms.