.

Sally 

November rains brought to our basement door
From the woods some pleading, needy eyes
Staring from a fur mass, soaking wet.
Our catless home (about to be no more)
Welcomed her and tended to her cries.
By Providence we had ourselves a pet.

I don’t recall why Sally was her name.
It seemed to suit her. She could do no harm
For the poor thing had none of her claws.
No wonder she was starving. Who could blame
Her for putting on her feline charm.
We fell for her. Her tiny gentle paws

Moved daintily around our home by day.
By night she curled up at my feet and slept.
Our children came along; she was their friend.
We couldn’t know her age; she was a stray.
We never did feel sorry that we kept
The cat until her stoic bitter end.

She sat upon the arm of my son’s chair
And kept him company while he did math.
They didn’t speak a word but understood
Each other so it seemed. He was not spared
The price of love when our dear Sally passed—
The grave he dug returned her to the woods.

.

.

Bob

Discovered on the highway by my son
Who couldn’t keep them as he was in school
The little kittens soon became our own.
We nurtured them until they were full grown.
However cats born wild have their own rules
And two took off and we had only one.

Now Bob was wise and stuck around our farm
He made peace with our dog and killed the mice.
He even brought to my back door a rat.
I know it was a gift of love. A cat
Does not about indecency think twice
(Or once!) He did not mean to cause alarm.

One winter it was colder than the norm.
Though his coat was thick my pity rose.
He ignored the house I made for him
And one day I just simply let him in.
He is a good farm cat, I feel I owe
Him wintertime that’s cozy, snug, and warm.

.

.

The 5 AM Finale

My pussycat typhoonies
(Before their all day snoozies)
Get early morning zoomies
And chase around the roomies
Imaginary goonies.
They pass out rather woozy
As if they have been boozy.
My feline fluffy floofies
Are neither lush nor loonie,
But keep me from the gloomies,
The moodies, and the broodies.

.

.

Gigi Ryan is a wife, mother, grandmother, and home educator. She lives in rural Tennessee.


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One Response

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Gigi, I enjoyed your cat poems immensely, although their short lifespan saddens us. You encouraged me to possibly attempt to publish some of my own poems about cats including one about a Chinchilla Persian that I purchased in a pet market near Red Square in Moscow. I can see how much you loved and cared for the strays that came to your farm.

    Reply

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