Hot & high in summer. Sleeping in am empty house full of strangers. I don’t remember eating anything the whole time I was there. We had a fish tank, all full of Siamese fighting fish, fighting each other to death every night in the neon-glow of blood & algae. We used to bet on them. Money was a rarity- what ever we had: Match sticks, cigarettes, tooth-picks, anything you can find in the bottom of your pockets. On more than one occasion the winner of the bet was permitted to eat the losing fish for sustenance. The winner would devour the poor frail, flailing body raw, with his nose pushed right up against the glass of the tank to let the winner know, if he did not continue to win, this too would be his unfortunate fate & the demise of his, lets face it, already sorry existence. The death-tank. The blood bowl & the lobster boat.
There was a dog living in the house, a black eyed, black furred mangy thing. Nothing to look at, but he was loyal & cared for us all as much as we him. Some days we would go without, so to not see him hungry. A hungry man is a sad sight to behold, but a poor dog with his rib cage showing through matted fur is too much for any man with a heart still beating to bare on his conscience. One time, an unknown,uninvited, unwelcome ****-bag of a man kicked him in the belly & few of the rough old boys dragged him outside & ''took care of him'' we asked no more questions on the subject, but safe to say, we never saw that man again & people knew not to mess with our dog. Given the chance, & not being taken by surprise like he was, we knew the mutt could take care of himself, he was a mean ol' thing if need be. He was a growling old junk-yard pooch, a real mean machine. The dog was known as The Colonel, I never thought to ask why, but in a strange sort of way, it seemed to make sense. The dog, & indeed none of us knew it, but looking back, he was running the ship. Our fearless leader, ready to starve, **** or be killed.
One cool, grey evening, The Colonel ran away. A bunch of people were sitting around in the big main room we called the hull, the mess hall, the control centre. A few chairs, a table for playing cards, a radio & a window at the back with black bags taped over it to keep out the sun. Most of us had no sleeping patterns to speak of, we just passed out where ever and whenever we felt the need to, so it was agreed that the sun being let inside our scruffy fortress was nothing but a nuisance. We were all sat around talking the usual babble & waiting for sleep to come-a-knocking.The sand man. I was lying on the carpet with my legs elevated up the wall, barefoot & hungry. ''Where's The Colonel?''
''oh ****, somebody left the gate open''
I slid off of the wall & up to my feet & ran out of the front door(which was also left open)looked in the front garden, nothing. The garden was so full of broken/useless crap that there really wasn't space for a dog anyway. Piles of black bags that never made it to the tip, the stench was enough to make your eyes water. Wine bottles, whisky bottles, beer cans & cheap white cider bottles flickered wonderful cosmic colours like the northern lights of Finland. Old bicycles, a whole mountain of them left to turn orange as a rusted door hinge. As far as we useless lay-abouts were concerned, once a bike got a flat tire it was as good as dead & left to rust, bicycles are really just a communal mode of transport, like a bus or train, the only fee is not getting caught, & we never did; breaking a lock is no problem with right applied pressure at the right angle of the frame & after some practice a combination lock really poses no problem either: simply pull the lock at both ends, spin the dial & all will fall in to place. Voilà!
I walked out to the front gate & peered down the street. The sun was coming down at the end of our little road where the cats prowled with their heads held high. Especially the king cat, the big cheese, big kahuna, top cat, hep-cat. He was bigger than all the other moggies, toms & tabbies. A big proud smoke coloured thing that prowled like a panther, battle scarred & mean looking. All of the other cats moved out of the way when he slid down the street. Twinkle-toes. He was the king. Sheba.
And through the orange peel sun glow & the rose tinted, airline-smear sky, at the end of the road I saw a crowd moving towards me. I squinted & held my hand to my brow like a sailor eyeing the horizon. When the black figures had come into focus I saw that running along side them was The Colonel. I'd know him anywhere.
The old dog charged the street like a battalion & pounced on me. Caught his front paws over my shoulder & took me to the ground with him. He was glad to see me. Friendship is a funny thing... he could tear me to shreds, but we were friends, I trusted him.
I rolled out from under the dumb playful mutt, wiped his slobbering welcome off of my face with my sleeve & when I looked up I saw an outreached hand & a smile, I took firm grip & pulled myself to my feet. It was Marie.

Father and Mother Noah both
Sailed away when in wide rushed
Tides to tower over the land,
To cover the mountains high at hand,
Axe-cut planks whereon they plod
Made to float on the waters’ top.

Song of the Aardvarks

In the very heart of us
The most essential part of us
Is our total love of life
To dig in the termite mound alive,
Lie in our burrow with bellies full,
Scratch and breed at the season’s pull.

Front limbs arms like ape or bear
Eight little shovels drive deep in there
Small mouth only needs to take
Termites, with its tubule teeth
Distant elephant our nearest kin
Freaks of evolution.

Song of Mother Noah

In this Ark I cradle safe
My suckling babies free from scathe
Silky kids velvet eared
Little woolly moggies dear
All shall live. None shall die
As the waters rise on high.

Song of the Hawks

She stoops upon them in her sudden flight
The wild mice fleeing at the killing sight,
Her talons long and razor sharp
Drive in with force to pick them up
Meat got, while the sessile male
Scarce a third of a bird is of a look pale.

Song of the Dove

White as a church
Or sepulchre
Blue sea and sky
I rise among
To fly abroad
If land should lie
Where love and peace
May flourish free
In life thereby.

Song of Father Noah on First Releasing the Dove

Because of the evil hearts of men
Out of the sky God sent the rain
The money changers pimps and thieves
Wasted in the oceans’ leave,
Here I put upon the seas
A bird who much more planet sees
With tale to tell of land again.
Go or come just as you please,
Sheltered from the hot Sun’s ray
Safe in the Ark the rest shall stay.

Song of the Sloth

Slow up from lying-down I get
To take my weight on idle foot,
From a heavy, a deep repose
I only stir when to toilet I goes.

Song of Father Noah on Next Releasing the Dove

My clever bird, far off you fared,
The four horizons close compared
Returned to us with bitter word
Dry land had not yet occurred

Song of the ******

All my tendons strong and thin
Stretch to drive a lockpiece in
Hard labour long to make the lodge
Into which to deftly dodge
If danger or else winter threats
The brook closed off as if with gates.

Song of Father Noah on Last Releasing the Dove

Olive tree like ancient man
Ever twisting with your sister
You give us oil for light and pan
And meat; Shade, fruit and timber useful
– Sage bird, a branch to me you bore,
Fly, little god, and come no more.

Song of All the Animals on Being Returned to Dry Land

Ants to hills, cattle to pasture
Birds to trees whatever comes after,
The cleaned land populates anew

Song of the Whales

If a whale come on the land
Put it back if ever you can
Else think it a death parental
Grave, give it respectful funeral.

The cat has a limp and a white patch on her eye
one ear's pointing down and one up,she gets by on a tin
of sardines every day,she catches the mice and expects little pay,but
a stroke and a kiss is something I wouldn't miss and she likes me to say,'kitty looks lovely'
then she'll lay on the rug and tug at my toes as if she already knows that it's time for my walk
if only,if only my kitty could talk,she could tell me such tales of mangy moggies,the males of the species,
but she can't,never will and until I speak Marmalese she'll just sit there and purr and warm up my knees.

I was looking forward to beginning a book about felines,

the beautiful view of moggies in verse and rhymes,

but after perusing a few there was a nagging sense in my head,

I didn't agree with a lot
that I read:

I saw words like "aloof", "distant", "scorning",

as if these things only

arrive when they deem to

call,

and I thought you really

don't know cats at all...

They'll follow you down the road to see you for a bit more time,

and sit on the knee, purr contented divine:

although still a bit scared on her back will roll and with vulnerability meet,

conjuring up the sweetest of greets.

Someone once sang...

"Don't get excited, cats will never be our sidekick
so I know our love will always be unrequited."

However...

Bouncing down the street to see me when I got home from school,

I forgot in an instant a bully was cruel,

then lost, bereft, day all of the slow,

went and sat on my shoulder to say, "I'm here, you know":

an attempt to lift, a furry kick-start,

if that's unrequited I choose a broken heart.

Okay, maybe a scratch, never say never,

but our love is precious

and always forever.

Write what you see, sing your song,

but please, please,

stop getting cats wrong.