“You Call Yourself a Cat?” by Blixa BelGrande
As I lie stretched on the mat,
daydreaming of mice and wet food,
I hear,”You call yourself a cat?”
It’s Darrell, come to wreck my mood.
Where did she find this Bozo boyfriend?
That Cheyenne calls her fiance’
I keep my eyes closed and pretend
That he’s gone far, far away
“That is one pampered animal,”
He continues, unperturbed,
“And living the life of Riley as well,”
I keep my mouth shut, not a word.
For I’m thinking of the ripped screen
In the upstairs bedroom window
It’s there that I ‘ll be redeemed
It’s there I will catch the sparrow
That will shut him up for good
That will wipe the smirk off his face
And of course it’s understood,
Just how good that bird will taste.
I casually head up the stairs,
Without a glance in his direction
And he drones on, unaware,
Of a little bird that needs protection.
Like a panther, I leap on the bed.
Like a tiger, I claw at the screen.
Quiet! as I spot the feathered head.
And I wait—as she leans—
YES! I’ve got her! In my mouth!
YIPE! YIPE! YIPE! she cries in horror!
” Hey! What the hell’s that noise about!?”
Darrell shouts, walking through the door.
But I race past him, a blur of speed,
to the living room, to Cheyenne
He must not know of my deed–
Not until Cheyenne has seen!
I lay the bird down on the floor
Cheyenne looks down, “Do you have a new toy?”
I prod the sparrow with my paw,
C’mon, you damn thing, make some noise!
“Oh good God! It’s a sparrow! Darrell, come and see!”
“What’s that cat gone and done?”
“She’s caught a bird! And brought it to me!”
She opened the door, and off it flew.
“It was still alive!” Cheyenne said, relieved.
At that point I let out a big meow.
“That’s one crafty cat,” Darrell said, admiringly.
(Cat photo c/o Jamie Lockhart.)