If your cat stays at the sliding glass door, stares - oh she stares -
feeling like a slave when indoors
you might have on your hands, a yard cat for sure!
Indifferent to you & your affairs,
she'll sit & she'll stare till you open the door
Scurrying out—in need of a stretch—
hind limbs first, then front, she sniffles the air,
extends her: 'Good morning! I've missed you! '
(Though she's speaking to the yard
and ne'er to you.)
One with nature, she immediately becomes,
agreeing with all aspects of the yard—
no matter fall winter or spring
(for summer she lazes on the driveway asphalt)
She'll be defiant enough to drink rainwater from the flowerpot
though you've told her a million times to stop;
Then go on to chase squirrels gathering nuts
who unrelentingly tease with the bush-wag of tails;
and attempting to keep on good terms
she'll greet the birds in the trees,
but a devious agenda is instead what she keeps
waiting to seize their feathers in her teeth.
Birds, rabbits, mice
have all seen their lost lot;
technique is key, artfulness— a must!
If you happen to join in on yard cat's frolic,
(which i often do with a cooling cup of jo)
in-between catching falling leaves, a rub against you, she'll weave!
And when she's sees fit, or in need of repose
(for yard cat cannot be forced to smell a rose!)
she'll come and sit by the sliding glass door & impatiently—patiently—
Ask to come in,
gracious enough to grace us with her company
(yet ever unmindful of human affairs
like Sunday football, sitcom, or news)
She'll then perch on the couch, reclaiming her spot
which is above you of course, on the cushion of couch,
and if she comes round to where you are,
you'll have to move—it's yard cat's mound!
with inspiration from T.S. Eliot's 'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem