This morning I looked out upon the yard,
From up the second floor, from o’er the sink,
To see the cat that every morning slinks
And sleeps upon our glider, features hard,
~
But fat around the waist, gray striped with white;
“He’s eating somewhere,” to each o’er we say.
We guess he helps to keep the mice away,
And anyway the kids enjoy the sight.
~
We bought this place as-is, the boiler died
On Christmas Eve with grandma in the den;
We’ve painted rooms and painted them again,
“We’re keeping out the elements,” we sighed.
~
“Just bring it in,” our friends entreaty us;
It’s cold, its life is hard, this is a sign.
“Give him a name,” cajole they from online,
His manifestation cutely devious.
~
He craps in all the flower beds, in the grasses;
He digs the marigolds before they thrive.
We built a fence, yet easy he trespasses;
He’ll give the girls diseases, give us hives.
We bought a house, and with that comes its taxes;
The cost to keep the elements alive.
We started noticing this gray cat on our glider last summer. I thought it might be a pregnant mama nesting. But, no. Just a stray who found a comfy cushion in a sunbeam.
People tell me the poop is good for the flowers, but I don’t know. Of course I know about the horticultural benefits of other animals’ poops. But cat waste is so rancid. I can’t imagine it doing any living thing any good.
Anyway, you buy a house, sometimes you get cats outside.
You can reply to this email; I get all the replies in my inbox.
Thanks for reading.
This is Phil.