C is for Charles Thomas Catkins, my ginger cat.
You look like a little fox
with your pointed face
and bushy tail.
Your tail, which you hold
so daintily in your white paw;
Your tail, which you groom
so patiently with your pink tongue.
My gingernut cat,
your golden eyes are pools of love.
Your soft white belly fur would look
beautiful round the wrists of some leather gloves.
And, because I forgot to add her to yesterday’s post, B is for Boris-Doris, my grumpy creamsicle (C is for) cat.
Small White Cat
Why do you look so cross, Boris-Doris?
Are you constantly plotting
sharpening your claws so you can slit my throat
with one gentle gesture?
why do you never purr?
Why does your meow sound so peevish,
like you’re listing all the wrongs
ever done to you?
what happened to the kitten who stood on my shoulder
and played with my hair?
Is she still there?