Cats are very clean animals. Even the males groom themselves. Even males with very few other social graces. Cats are independent. They’re not like dogs. Dogs are all over you panting & humping on your leg. Cats are aristocratic. People write poems about them. Like T.S. Eliot. Like a patient cat etherized upon a table. And smoke snaking around like a cat. And the musical. Cats are quiet. You’ll never catch a cat barking its head off and keeping the whole neighborhood on edge. Cats don’t bother postmen. I once saw a mailman with his scalp half torn off, blood like a waterfall over his face. That wasn’t a cat. Cats are quite useful. In the country they can catch mice and rats. In the city cockroaches and centipedes. Cats let you know if something strange is afoot like a bat in the attic or a foot on the porch step. No—I wouldn’t have a cat.
1 comment:
It’s so hard writing a cat poem when there are so many already. I love this – its weirdness and honestness. Cats can be wickedly gross and clean at the same time.
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