The Kitten And The Falling Leaves

That way look, my infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the kitten on the wall,
sporting with the leaves that fall.
Withered leaves – one – two and three
from the lofty elder tree.
Though the calm and frosty air,
of this morning bright and fair.
Eddying round and round they sink,
softly, slowly; one might think.
From the motions that are made,
every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending,
to this lower world descending.
Each invisible and mute,
in his wavering parachute.

But the Kitten, how she starts,
crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow,
just as light and just as yellow.
There are many now – now one,
now they stop and there are none:
What intenseness of desire,
in her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half-way,
now she meets the coming prey.
lets it go as fast, and then;
Has it in her power again.
Now she works with three or four,
like an Indian conjuror;
quick as he in feats of art,
far beyond in joy of heart.
Where her antics played in the eye,
of a thousand standers-by,
clapping hands with shout and stare,
what would little Tabby care!
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
over wealthy in the treasure
of her exceeding pleasure!

…William Wordsworth

Training Your Human

Training your human is a thankless task.
“Why bother with it?”, some kittens may ask.
The fate of the world is the issue at hand,
as felines worldwide stake a claim for their land.
Make no bones about it, we cats own the joint.
We spray in the corners to drive home the point.

Some say the meek shall inherit the Earth,
But they’ve no fangs or claws, for what that’s worth.
The cat is the ultimate species, you see,
We’re poised to usurp man’s authority.
These silly old humans who cannot play nice!
We cats are peaceful, we hate only mice.

Just what does training your human entail?
A host of fun things you must do without fail:
The sofas and rugs need a little makeover.
The La-Z-Boy’s target for kitty takeover.
Then sleep on clean towels placed in the guest bath.
And make their best clothing a target of wrath.

Tear down those new drapes with a quick forceful tug.
Then tatter the pile of the new Berber rug.
And when they are sleeping, you block off their nose,
paw at their lower lip, chew on their toes.
Strut on the mantle. If they give any flack,
knock down their trophies and all bric-a-brac.

Shed on mom’s new velvet black evening gown,
as she’s headed out for a night on the town.
If they leave you home all alone for the night,
(Any human doing this can’t be all that bright),
They’re telling you by leaving, it’s perfectly all right,
To totally redecorate ’til dawn’s early light.
Knock over tables and chew up the fern.
Hurry, go faster! Soon, they’ll return…

When they try to punish, you mustn’t show concern.
(All attempts of discipline a pussycat should spurn.)
A snide flick of tail will convey no remorse,
but they will try harder to scold you, of course!
So, hide in the closet until they forget,
and then launch out just like an F-14 jet.

Tear up their ankle, their forearm, their hand,
then when they’ve had all the pain they can stand,
dart from the room while they call 9-1-1,
and celebrate victory: The felines have won!
To humans, however, the battle’s begun,
as they steep in their anger and wish for a gun.

Pathetic and lumbering and clumsy to boot,
My friend, human dominance is really a hoot.
Take charge in your home. It’s destiny, meow.
(The verses above have already told how.)
So sleep for an hour, and then grab some chow,
And then train your human, beginning right now.

…Author Unknown

Perhaps other Kelphistos could find some Cat Poetry favorites of their own?

Gus – The Theatre Cat – a poem by T S Eliot

Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door.
His name, as I ought to have told you before,
Is really Asparagus. That’s such a fuss
To pronounce, that we usually call him just Gus.
His coat’s very shabby, he’s thin as a rake,
And he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake.
Yet he was, in his youth, quite the smartest of Cats–
But no longer a terror to mice and to rats.
For he isn’t the Cat that he was in his prime;
Though his name was quite famous, he says, in its time.
And whenever he joins his friends at their club
(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub)
He loves to regale them, if someone else pays,
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days.
For he once was a Star of the highest degree–
He has acted with Irving, he’s acted with Tree.
And he likes to relate his success on the Halls,
Where the Gallery once gave him seven cat-calls.
But his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.

“I have played,” so he says, “every possible part,
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart.
I’d extemporize back-chat, I knew how to gag,
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.
I knew how to act with my back and my tail;
With an hour of rehearsal, I never could fail.
I’d a voice that would soften the hardest of hearts,
Whether I took the lead, or in character parts.
I have sat by the bedside of poor Little Nell;
When the Curfew was rung, then I swung on the bell.
In the Pantomime season I never fell flat,
And I once understudied Dick Whittington’s Cat.
But my grandest creation, as history will tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.”

Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin,
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne.
At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat,
When some actor suggested the need for a cat.
He once played a Tiger–could do it again–
Which an Indian Colonel purused down a drain.
And he thinks that he still can, much better than most,
Produce blood-curdling noises to bring on the Ghost.
And he once crossed the stage on a telegraph wire,
To rescue a child when a house was on fire.
And he says: “Now then kittens, they do not get trained
As we did in the days when Victoria reigned.
They never get drilled in a regular troupe,
And they think they are smart, just to jump through a hoop.”
And he’ll say, as he scratches himself with his claws,
“Well, the Theatre’s certainly not what it was.
These modern productions are all very well,
But there’s nothing to equal, from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery
When I made history
As Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.”

This bit of Eliot double-speak always tickles me.

Glenn

The image of him lounging on or nearor in your tub and/or shower brings to mind several kinds of imagery that simply cannot be discussed on such a public forum. Could also be that Mo just loves his Mom, and puts up with the water bit in order to show his affection, like my cat Keezie does with wife, Melva. He has to be on, or near her much of the time. When I call upstairs for things, Melva often replies,” I would love to do that for you dear, but I have a cat in my lap, and I prefer not to disturb him. It upsets him so.”

So, Paul, you are right on with your “cats have staff” statement. Although I often wonder if dogs don’t as well. We find ourselves jumping up and tending to our dog’s needs often, and she can communicate well, with whines, whimpers, barks, and collar shaking.

Glenn

You are lucky your cats get along so well. There is a continuous territorial soap opera going on at our house: one cat is the queen of the tops of things – desks, counters, refridgerators, cabinets – and the other cat is king of floor and furniture. Much hissing and growling is required to precisely set the boundries – and these are always changing.

Our cats are a bit more traditional about water – they think it is some sort of deadly poison.

Smudge and Mo are both of the [formerly] male persuasion (missing some gear, as it were) and adore each other. They’re pretty much inseparable. And amazingly, they are just fine with staying on the side of the threshold on which their kibble is buttered. They seem to sense that the outside lacks a number of the creature comforts to which they’ve become accustomed. Most recently, they added our infrared sauna to that list. Once they get in that nice wooden box of warmth, there’s almost no getting them out. Good thing they don’t have opposable thumbs otherwise they’d go nuts with the controls and over-bake themselves.

So viewing the world through the window seems to suffice their need for exploration; with all the birds and the deer every day, I call it cat TV and it’s quite the show, even though to many it would appear to be reruns.

As for adjusting the nature of this blog, I think I’ve written before about how tempting it’s been to get a domain name of http://www.alexxxxshapiro if only to generate enormous traffic. But thinking about how disappointed and annoyed those new visitors would be upon arriving at my site, I nixxxxed the idea….