Cat, Perturbed

CAT, PERTURBED
by Elizabeth Massie


Who does this slobbing, crusty thing imagine that he is,
To loll about my sun spot as if it were truly his?
To stretch and snore and waggle tongue with sticky-licky nose,
To roll his doggy self about in napping’s pleasant throes?

The spot of sun upon the rug indeed belongs to me,
I found it as I passed the couch en route to go and see
What was transpiring in the hall and chase a fly or two,
And there is was, as bright as gold and warm as Timbuktu.

Oh, sweet delight! I groomed myself in preparation thus,
To soon enjoy the rapturous bliss; to doze without a fuss.
A folded ear, a graceful swipe, sleek legs perfection, clean,
A rippling, velvet tabby coat, near-blinding in its sheen.

And then a lumbering flurry; up I leapt with razored back,
My fur at rapt attention, a spray of gray and black.
I faced the family bumpkin with his toothy canine grin,
My whiskers raised in ire; my tail a great white’s fin.

He licked my head with broad-stroke pink then settled on the
floor,
And flipped and flopped and chewed a burr, but me he did
ignore.
I stared at him for quite some time, my gaze, it came to
naught.
He scratched a tick and flea; oh, how he relished in his
lot.

Hissy-prissy, ‘neath the couch I watch my errant foe,
Waiting for the moment when off my spot he’ll go.
If I could only shake a bag of kibble with my teeth
He’d run, a-scramble, for a snack thus bringing my relief.

I’ll have my time, just wait and see, for felines hold a
grudge
Against all smelly canines who from sun spots will not
budge.
Until then I sit and fume and stare and pick and plot
And hope that come tomorrow I’ll be quick to claim my spot.

Elizabeth Massie