Last Edited: Oct 14, 2008 8:47 AM
There's something about Grizabella. . .
and her multifarious ear positions
broadcasting her catly cognitions,
swiveling russet satellite dishes.
There's that zing of plumed tail,
lofting toward the ceiling, sail
pulled by a string, signal "yes"
to everything. . .or so I guess.
There's no display of deference
here; an ear-flattened reference
and amber eye-contact removal
curtly certifies her disapproval.
She communicates a sullen mood
caused by noise or foreign food,
angling furry foot to floor
as if to bury scat or spoor.
She frequently critiques my poetry;
as I read it aloud to her, she
lightly tap-taps my thighs
with tactile tip: "Revise, revise."
As I toss another crumpled paper
she launches an editorial caper,
retrieving my cast-off writing
chastising me with a little biting.
Today she's at her post, left paw
poised to poke, ready to draw my
attention with her tail swishing
in my face & threat of hissing.
She's dauntlessly difficult to ignore;
it's plainly obvious that I adore
this four-footed editor of mine!
Felis cattus, muse of nonpareil design.
In memory of Grizabella
Roy and Joanne U.