Member-only story
In Praise of Cats
606.
A cat is a moving organic poem,
A sonata made in flesh and blood;
A touch of the wild,
No matter how plump or smug;
A predator who knows that his ancestors
Ate our ancestors.
What other animal is able to be
So contradictory, mysterious and frankly
Venal. As they politely touch noses,
Invite scratching of their difficult-to-reach
Forehead and earbases, lie down to facilitate
Stroking and lash out like lightning
The second they’ve had enough,
The reality is that they want your
Food, the nicest and of course
The most expensive you can find.
And your clever paws to remove burrs.
And yet we love them much more
Than they love us, attribute magic to them –
But they are magical.
My tabby Remy, long dead, came back
To reassure me when I was
In an ambulance with a stroke.
When I had an operation on my back,
Satsuma-san slept next to me in bed
For two weeks until
I could defend myself again.
Yes, I’m addicted to caffeine and cats.
~~~
