A Cats Paw Poem by Andy Brookes

It tickles my fancy watching the cat tickle fish, which reminds me of your fishing for compliments.
a complimentary book landed on the door mat.
pouncing on it like a cat, which strangely pounced on it too.
we tugged at war and wrestled each other, paper shredded.
who won I thought as I wandered into the kitchen in search of comfort and coffee.

You had left as usual with no goodbye.
all you'd left were coffee dregs, a metaphor for your thoughtlessness,
so we were coffee-less.
so off to the coffee house, not a house made of coffee but a sales outlet.

the drink was sharp and bitter which no amount of cream disguised.
when I get home as usual you had had all the cream.
me and the cat sulk in different corners,
like two boxers waiting for the bell to ring for the next round.

me because you've left your usual mess, the cat because you'd forgotten the kitty food again.
scrounging a tin of tuna from across the way, making a sandwich with stale bread.
I divide the fish between me and the cat, who though now fed, is still fed up and eyes my sandwich with beady thieving eyes.
I ignore her and she retreats with her familiar disdain.
is she your familiar? like some medieval witch.

Waitingfor you to return, which I know,
and it's so annoying will return her purr.
all I get is the hackles and fur balls.
I who feed her, brush her and takeher to the vet, she treats as an undervalued servant;
whilst you oh light of my light which I do not say lightly, do nothing for her, is treated to her affection.

She was my cat after all. but she only lights up in your presence.
so I'm off, in a huff, to the pub.

P.S your dinners in the cat.