Y'know the last cat I had wasn't even my cat,
  he was the neighbour's cat
Yea! He defected... came over to our house
My neighbours they had a holiday home down the country
  and used visit it often on the weekends
So the poor cat would be left behind at home
  and he'd get lonely
So he'd come out to us, and he liked us so
  much
We used give him a great reception
He'd get so much love and attention, nice
  food as well
That he decided to stay with us rather than
  go back home
We even bought him one of those nice furry
  little cathouse bed type things
Put it out in the garage and he'd sleep there.

But whose cat was he now then, was he ours
  or was he still theirs
Did they still have a claim on him
Or was it up to him to choose,
You know it could have caused a
  Constitutional Crisis
Could have gone to Court
Who had ownership of the cat
Could have been a real tug of love affair
A bit like that film what's it's name...Kramer
  vs Kramer
Luckily the neighbours though they didn't
  seem to mind that much.

Of course, the punchline to all this was, one day my Dad was out visiting
  my neighbours next door
When who should he see lying there on the sofa looking very contented
  and very much at home
Yea! You guessed it.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking
Yea exactly! I bet the cat...our cat the Defector
He was probably a Double Agent all along.

I’m not missing you; I have
my cat.
My soft little shadow.
We’re perfectly happy
listening to jazz manouche
and taking selfies on the
floor together.

Because when I drain my coffee and see my face reflecting in the dark glossy bottom of the mug, my eyes are holding something that I can't blink away.

No matter how hard I try, it sits along my lashline, glazed over my pupil, reddening the corners and doubling my vision.

I set my mug down. I've dripped coffee on my t-shirt. My eyes are gripping tight to a sensation that is so painfully familiar that it almost feels welcome. Like I wouldn’t know what to do if it ever left.

It’s a scary comfort, curling up in that feeling. I know it so well. Sometimes I want to reach out and cradle it against my chest where it purrs like a childhood cat. It’s beautiful and black, sleek, with paws so big they weigh down on my chest. Makes it hard to breathe but I don't dare move.

My hands find reprised solace along the ridges of its back, petting patterns down its silky fur. When I look down all I see is its big yellow eyes, drowning my sight and filling every corner with that numbing company.

It's a dangerous cat, whose dark slivered pupils I see in my own. In the bottom of a mug, a storefront reflection, a dark screen. It's so comfortable that I sometimes forget to miss the feeling of being alone.

My legs are pins and needles where it sits in my lap. Makes it hard to believe I'll ever stand again. It's a blessing to have a quiet mind.

The cat purrs and purrs and purrs.

T'was never meant to be,
Never meant to last,
Mistakes yet again from the past
You sing them like a tune
From a time nearly forgotten
My heart now decayed, rotten

Through closed eyes
I see a dark, distorted paradise
Where perhaps they understand
Where perhaps they accept it
Accept me for who I am
For what I am, alas,
They do not, they cannot
For I am what they shall never understand
What they cannot stand, nor comprehend

Every time they fall in love
With little old me
They cannot help but wish to keep me
An indoor cat, they cannot trust
Jealousy, jealousy, it's never pretty
But I am not meant to be
Trapped indoors all of my life
I wish to roam, to be free
To return and still love my home
Even if it were more than one
One can have more than one home
And love them all the same;
This they can never understand

All well, I should have known
In part, perhaps I did
Merely waiting for the other shoe
To finally drop
Hit the floor
Echo, and echo...

- Jay M
August 12th, 2022

I don’t want to live in a universe where cats are considered liquids— They’re bad enough as they are.

So some idiot decided that cats fit the definition of a liquid—
“a substance that flows freely but is of constant volume”.

Obviously the dictionary is wrong, wrong, WRONG.
I shall spend the rest of my dotage developing a definition that will not accept cats as liquids.

Perhaps “A freely flowing substance of constant volume that doesn’t meow.”— Perhaps not.

But wait,  cats don’t fit the definition after all. They don’t stay the same size, especially when frightened or wet.

I bet that idiot spends all his time watching cat videos and has never hosed down fighting cats in his backyard.

Dotage saved for more important stuff :
Continue study of Schrodinger’s aversion to cats, look for hidden messages in Emily Dickenson poems recited backwards, master fake outrage.

the dog barked loud twice
the cat cried out in death
i went back to sleep

Thank you, cat, here is

your blackbird offering back --


Gods are generous.

The curiosity of young; is the danger of creativity,
discovery, but at times ignorance.

The fat cat...

Is it curious of me to ask a favour with no return,
I owe the plenty of their time I wasted. Chasing the
clock round and round these late working hours.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat...

Is it curious of me to want what others have,
the happiness it brings them, I too want it's share.
Despite at the expense of my appreciation, I want it all for free.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat...

Is it curious of me to want a love I can't afford,
this love for the things in this world. What fame can
get you, whether in the honest success, or the success
of selling your soul.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat...

Is it curious of me to get my eyes stuck on the sky,
I'm waiting for Heaven to fall onto this living hell.
How long will I have to wait longer, for the Lords return?

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat. She was battling with her
careless curiosity in daily combat.

Is it curious of me to wonder what exactly killed the cat,
so many lives wasted or not; dependent upon the right curiosity.
We're all curious beings; whether small or big. A question of
where you curiosity leads you to.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat. She was battling with her
careless curiosity in daily combat.

Ordered the bat online, it came with the vat. The bat was
black in matte, to go chase a rat all around their flat.  
She was a sort of brat; with an annoyance that flew around
like a gnat.  So inquisitive of people's affairs; and nobody
likes that.

In the end, curiosity did **** that cat.