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Nico Reznick Jan 2016
I love my black cat,
for all his brokenness, his brain
damage, his tendency to
drool and
to fall off
things.  
I love him dearly,
in spite or perhaps because of
these various defects,
and he loves me back
with a fierce and simple purity
like only idiots can.

Still, I
sometimes wish
we could time travel together,
he and I,
and I could take him to Ancient Egypt
and show the Pharoah, the priests, the acolytes and the slavedrivers.
I'd show them my wonderful cat
with his wobbly eyes, his
flailing windmill limbs and
his perfect idiot love,
and I'd tell them all:
'This is your God.
Reevaluate.'
From my Kindle Collection, "Gulag 101", available here: > tinyurl.com/amz-g101
Are you a cat or bird,
devil or saint?
Villain and victim, dichotic romantic,
bruised and beaten, ostracised.
Bruised and beaten, demonised.
A willow bending against cruel fashion's wind.

A thousand storms of impotent hate,
jealousies and malignant complaints.
Rain like sonnets before the deaf!
As your gifts are pearl before swine.

And yet thy brow is regal still.
The profile of a demon prince -
no matter what shape taketh the face.
Be thou Quasimodo or Adonis by fate.
Whose smile has lit a thousand candles
in thankless, bitter hearts,
and fires in the hearths of freaks
who need but a spark to break the leash.

Or art thou Prince of Cats?
Yearning for the freedom to roam, to hunt.
Seeking pleasure, his mistresses pats.
The enemy of closed doors and cold paws.

Or could thou be a bird?
Clipped wings, a gilded cage,
whose song can only go so far.
If not let to glide into the night, to rise,
to greet the dawn with bleary, satisfied eyes.
Of one who has been given the chance to soar!
Or else to wilt, and yowl no more.
Of many a poet and musician I have known.
Fattish crumbs of furry bread, they keep
Their bodies elastic even when
The frost blocks the eyelids.
Sleeping close to samovars, a symbol
For the warmth which stays hidden
In domestic walls, for the affection
Disclosed under layers of ice.
When babushkas wait to die
Russian cats lay their paws
On decrepit hands
And if the big journey starts
They are the first to bid farewell,
Then go back to the snowy streets of Russia,
Carefully avoiding drunkards
And marshrutkas.
JDK Dec 2015
Some people endeavor to portray a persona.
Some people perpetuate the beliefs of their parents.
Some people pretend to be somebody they've seen on TV.
Some people have trouble accepting that they're actually existing.
Some people perceive themselves as being unlike anyone else.
Some people have an aversion to personality profiling.
Some people just can't help themselves.
Some people feel a need to place everyone they've ever known into categories.
"Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand."
Josh Nov 2015
Did I ever tell you why I sleep?
I do it to pass the time between sights of you.
Every time I see you I get so tired that I have to sleep.
I call the sights of you “visits” because it feels like I’m visiting
family and I’ve stayed too long or seen their face too much.

I sleep because I’m bored
I sleep because I dream of better things.
I watch movies, TV shows, anime, and cartoons
(No, they aren’t the same)
Because to me, I love the stories that they tell.
I love to see the characters grow as people.
I love to get lost in the dreams and
chances they have between themselves.
The way people grow close and feel lonely.

It just helps.
It helps alleviate the pang
within my own head.
The pang that I don’t want to admit I have.
I’m lonely too.
I miss you between our “visits” and
Just when I want to see you again, miss you
and think I’ve finally found a kindred spirit
I get hurt by everything you say.
I can’t do a **** thing right.
So I sleep.
Because at least then I am not doing anything
but dreaming of more stories to tell.
I’m gathering things up
from these shows and dreams because
Why?
Tsk. I don’t know.
Maybe to fill up my mind with useless junk
so I feel better about myself
to feel not so useless.

The cat sleeps with me you know.
Just curls up beside me and we bond with sleep.
We meet in our dreams
in a way that sometimes I wish you and I would.
But here I am sleeping
having dreams about a spring on a mountain
that trickles slowly down into a waterfall
and here you are having another night terror.
Another clown has chased you down
or a manager from work has scolded you.
And sometimes I secretly think you think
you deserve having these nightmares.

You know, all this aside,
I still love you.
Not because of the way you look
Or what you do or don’t do to me
But because you keep me in check.
Make me a better person and that’s
Who I want to be. You are the old soul
That has been through many lifetimes
And I’m the newly minted soul curious and
Trusting all things.

We’re opposites.
I sleep.
You’re awake.
I dream.
You have nightmares.
I watch TV.
And you read enough for the both of us.
I hope this isn’t one of the things you read.
But if it is.
I love you
I always will.
Forever.
Just down by the lights
at brokenland
there is a small patch of wilderness and a park,
where three cats roam.

The first is white with big splotches of grey
as if it built its camouflage
betting last winter would never end
now an easy spot amongst the hill of green.

The second was a dark grey
the color of the shade under a pine tree
on a partly sunny day
or a storm cloud ready to light up the sky.

The third was black head to toe,
body slim like that of a dancer,
and eyes of bright amber that shined like searchlights
even with a sky full of clouds.

The first I saw on high alert
nose up high, ears pointed, standing tall
a dog down the hill of unkempt grass
it’s owner leashed and in tow.

The second I saw on the hunt,
weaving in and out of wildflowers
leaping and pouncing gracefully,
steadily and quickly traversing the hillside.

The third I saw leisurely sitting by the road,
legs folded underneath it on a rotting log
watching traffic like a king on its throne
yet in seeming awe of its steady flow.

I have seen each cat only once
always when I am moving boxes to the new house
and I wonder if they have an owner
among the white row houses off Little Patuxent.
Every so often
I would just stare at our cat
just to check if she's breathing'
because I am afraid
it will suddenly stop.

For almost four years
never did I cease to believe in you
and our hope and dreams because
I trusted you
I loved you
You love me but
you suddenly stopped.

And so I observe
the rising and falling
of our cat's puny body
while she sleeps
I never wanted to leave things to fate
again.

Every night I lie awake and stare at
the making and becoming
of us in these old videos
while you probably sleep.
This melancholy and emptiness is something
I leave to fate.
Chris T Nov 2015
this is a fine morning and the man in the bathroom mirror smiles
though he admittedly isn't the friendliest person but honestly
he seemed genuinely glad to be awake and alive on such an Autumn day
with the birds chirping and the window near the kitchen slightly ajar
allowing safe passage to a nice chill breeze. he finds the cat up as well
meowing "Good morning!" cheerfully and innocently in its tiny cat voice
and he chuckles and meows back in the most accurate manner available.
on the kitchen table there's a mug of coffee, the newspaper rolled like a cigar,
a plate of waffles, bacon, scrambled eggs and powdered happiness which
the man gobbles wholeheartedly while reading the day's fresh headlines:
President Declares Peace on Earth, Local Man Defeats Dog - Gives Too Many Treats,
Cop Buys Medical Lemonade From Child's Lemonade Stand, World Hunger Exterminated...
permitting the felines to rule our existence was truly the best of ideas!
There is no God but if there was He would be a Cat.
Oscar Mann Oct 2015
I’ve met too many
Manifestly two-faced people
Who’d stab you in the back
With the sincerest of smiles
To trust in the true dedication
Of man’s so called best friend

I don’t care about loyalty
Companionship bores me to death
And since I don’t need protection
I’ve solemnly decided that
The most truthful pet
Is my wicked, disinterested cat
Styles Oct 2015
One day, Hunter, our family dog of 9 years, died while he was sleeping. My wife and I, were devastated by the loss, and were worried how it would impact our ten-year-old son, Vincent.

Since Hunter was his first dog, and they were inseparable -- we weren’t sure how we would approach such a delicate topic, with such a young child. Finally, that afternoon we decided to be honest, and just let him know that Hunter had passed, peacefully, in his sleep -- then try to comfort him.

That same night, we told Vincent what had happened to Hunter. We weren’t sure if he understood that he would never be able to see Hunter again, and that there was nothing we could do to change that  -- but to our amazement,  he was surprisingly calm. And as we explained it to him,that Hunter was no longer with us, he seemed to get calmier.

To our surprise, while tucking Vincent into bed, we noticed that he was handling the news better than we were. In fact, as he reached up and gave his mother a huge hug, it seemed like he was comforting us more than we could, him.

As we were dimming his room light, he asked if we could have pancakes, Hunter’s favorite,for breakfast in the morning. We look at each other smiled. then agreed. We blew him a kiss goodnight, and we wandered off to bed.

The next morning, during breakfast, we noticed that Vincent was back to his cheerful self, rushing down the stairs and dashing to the table, to join us for pancakes. As I watched him, wrestling with the cap of the syrup, It seemed like he had come to his own understanding of what had happened to Hunter -- which he eagerly explained it to us, as he drenched his stack of pancakes with maple syrup,

“When Hunter was a little puppy, we took him away from his Mother. It must have been very sad day for her, because she loved him with all of her heart -- just like we do. And just like us, she wasn’t ready for him to leave -- but we still took him away to a beautiful new home, to be with his new family, far away from her. He grew up to be a big strong dog that loved and protected us, the same way his Mother did her family.” he continued explaining,

“And since Hunter is such a special dog, the whole time he was with us, his Mother must have been praying that he would come back to her someday, so she could be happy again.  Nine years ago, God answered our prayers by giving us Hunter. Last night, he finally answered hers, by giving him back.”

He said, “And even though we loved him,  and we weren’t ready for him to leave --  God had to give Hunter back to his Mother, to live in their beautiful new home, Heaven. Where they can grow old together, loving and protecting the way they did us. It okay to be sad, but God had to take him, because we wouldn’t have been able to let him go on our own.”

As I listened, stunned by what he had just heard. I looked over at my wife, struggling to hold back her tears. In that moment, we both realized, that our ten-year-old son had just given us the comfort we wanted to give him.
This is a story about a Man's Best Friend, and if you are the owner an amazing dog, them you understand the saying. If you are dealing with a loss, I hope this story will help you as much as it helped me. If you have a friend that lost a pet, please forward them this story-- they will appreciate it as much as I did. Thanks.
RIP Hunter
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