haiku for the day: a cat drinking

The more I watch cats the more I find them fascinating. For instance, their bodies are built for one thing and  one thing only. They are built hunters. It’s in their DNA. Every instinct in their bodies says hunting. It’s amazing how a cat can stay focused on one thing for hours at a time. If you’ve never watched a cat drink, watch. It can be incredibly interesting.

to quench a cat’s thirst
her tongue a pink spoon scooping
water into mouth

haiku for the day: sand

Cats eat, they sleep, they lick themselves, and they poop. One of the first things I learned about cats is that they are not dogs. They don’t have to be taught where to poop. Show them the litter box, and they never have to be told again. Unless there are health problems. Otherwise it’s the poop box or bust. Maybe this was the reason the Egyptians thought they were gods. Gods always know where the poop box is. ‘Course the Greek gods seem to ignore that rule. Zeus continually pooped all over the place. Just ask Hera.

cat in litter box
her paws splashing grains of sand
the floor a new beach

She’s a mouser

Just another lyric to entertain all you folks at home.
For Princess, Buster, Peaches, Mr. Gray and Little Bear and all cats everywhere.

There’s a kitty in my house
She loves the taste of mouse
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She’s the master of her fate
She’s never one to wait
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She jumps on my lap
And she plays with my cap
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She does what she will
And she sleeps on the sill
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She once fit in the palm of my hand
Her green eyes tried to understand
Why there was no big parade
Or crowds to applaud her on her way

She dreams her kitty dreams
She runs the roofy beams
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

The sun is her friend
You’d think they were kin
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She loves to jump and play
Each and every day
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouse

When she gets to cavort
She’s never out of sorts
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She once fit in the palm of my hand
Her green eyes tried to understand
Why there was no big parade
Or crowds to applaud her on her way

She’s got long sharp teeth
And claws on her feet
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She keeps the moles away
And all the rats at bay
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

If you’re a rat in town
Don’t come around
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

There’s a kitty in my house
She loves the taste of mouse
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She once fit in the palm of my hand
Her green eyes tried to understand
Why there was no big parade
Or crowds to applaud her on her way

She’s my mouser
She’s my mouser
She’s my mouser
Oh, yes, she is

 

L B

You don’t have a cat. Lucky you. This is what you have to put up with if you do.

“What are you doing with that towel?” I ask.

Little Bear is the cat who lives at our house. She’s sitting on a white towel. “Who do you think you are? Get out of my face,” L B says to me. She will be upset if I say she’s my cat. That’s nonsense as far as she is concerned. “Nobody owns me,” she says, “and don’t you forget it.” Ssssh, don’t tell her I said this. She’s my cat whether she likes it or not.

“Look we need to talk,” I say to L B.

“Talk, talk, talk, that’s all you do.”

“That towel is mine.”

“No big deal. Let’s just say that I’m borrowing it for a while.”

“It was nice and clean. Now you made it dirty.”

“Yes. What of it.” That is not a question. It’s a challenge. Then she gives me that face. You cat people know what face I’m talking about. That face that says she’s smarter than me and I had better watch out.

I don’t want to get in any deeper. I’ve been there before and let’s just say it isn’t pleasant. I leave her be, knowing I had better mind my p’s-and-q’s, or I will be in trouble.

Non-cat owners, see what I mean. Uh-oh, I got to go. Here she comes and she’ll be reading this. She’s a speed reader too.