It’s a Saturday afternoon worth waiting for. It’s 52°f and the sky is clear except for a scattering of popcorn clouds. I’m eating lunch with Sophy, Lisa, Anna (my roommates) and Peter (a friend) at one of the two residential dining halls that have the best pizza (yeah, you KNOW who you are).

We’re touching base before we scatter, shrapnel like, for the night. I’ll be hemmed-up by circumstance and in my most diligent work-mode. I have a presentation due Monday.

Sophy says, reading from at her laptop, “Research suggests that cat owners are seen as better looking and have more ***.”

“I have two cats,” I say, “at home.” I preen in my double-catness.

“I’m a cat owner!” Anna announces.

“My cat DIED.” Lisa reveals sadly.

“THAT cat did its JOB,” Sophy pronounced saliently, as if proving the studies validity.

“I grew up in a cat house,” Peter says.

“Ooo! YOU must have learned a LOT!” I say, batting my eyes seductively.

“Maybe we should get a cat HERE!” Sophy suggests.

“To cement our status!” Anna laughs.

The pizza was really good.

Things get out
'at shouldn't

izzat a melting inkyness
rubbing its catness

on your
put together

put on
we know

what's melting
on the sofa

finger fast
nightless time

searches me
for day's devil

I have it here
with me now

I'll run right
over


Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis

Cats upon a summer’s day
lying indolently down,
black and white, and silver-grey,
tabby, golden, ginger, brown,

on the catmint sprawled at ease,
breathing its sublime aroma,
shape their visions as they please
in a slumbrous catmint-coma.

Lands with rivers full of cream
stuffed with every kind of fish,
trout and salmon, plaice and bream,
fresh-cooked on a silver dish;

Cushion-trees with leaves of silk,
if a cat should seek repose,
overhang the Lake of Milk
where Roast-Chicken Forest grows.

Lean and hungry mogs and toms
grow to an enormous fatness
where nor dog nor human comes
to disturb their perfect Catness.

Dreaming in the afternoon
with closed eyes and folded paws,
cats regain their wits, and soon
they unsheathe their polished claws.

When the sun between the trees
stripes the lawn with blacks and golds,
tiger-cats, with guileful ease
prowl among the marigolds.

To have loved a cat.
Amongst my accomplishments this ranks highly.
So, I gave freely. Understanding the rewards might be fleeting.
Yet I loved whole. True.
The entire monty.
And there i paws
A cat hair in my eye on lookout for every stray
Who happens by

Seeking....



Nor, is it folly, to have served their whims upon a silver platter, when rewarded only by their regal indifference. For, there comes a time when you feel a bit down, or you are sad, and lo, her catness rubs your leg, or turns her head upside down and let's you rub her belly.
And the ultimate when on a dark gloomy night she consents to the rare kiss on your lips. And rubs her side along yours. Softly