Catalogue
by Rosalie Moore
Cats sleep fat and walk thin.
Cats, when they sleep, slump;
When they wake, pull in -
And where the plump's been
There's skin.
Cats walk thin.
Cats wait in a lump,
Jump in a streak.
Cats, when they jump, are sleek
As a grape slipping its skin-
They have technique.
Oh, cats don't creak.
They sneak.
Cats sleep fat.
They spread comfort beneath them
Like a good mat,
As if they picked the place
And then sat.
You walk around one
As if he were City Hall
After that.
(the rest of the poem is here)
by Rosalie Moore
Cats sleep fat and walk thin.
Cats, when they sleep, slump;
When they wake, pull in -
And where the plump's been
There's skin.
Cats walk thin.
Cats wait in a lump,
Jump in a streak.
Cats, when they jump, are sleek
As a grape slipping its skin-
They have technique.
Oh, cats don't creak.
They sneak.
Cats sleep fat.
They spread comfort beneath them
Like a good mat,
As if they picked the place
And then sat.
You walk around one
As if he were City Hall
After that.
(the rest of the poem is here)
I'm going to have to beg to differ a bit with Rosalie Moore. Some cats will never walk thin and will never be sleek when jumping. Case in point, Willie Morris. (After the southern writer, author of My Dog Skip and My Cat Spit McGee.)
Willie Morris is built like a tank, with a broad head, a wide chest, and look at those feet! He fills up the space under my desk (albeit more comfortably than the dog did). He stays true to the poem in that he does spread comfort beneath himself (unless he's trying to curl up on your chest in bed), and you do walk around him as if he were City Hall (although not in the sense the poet had in mind, I'm sure)!
Willie Morris is a +/-2 year-old rescue cat. His right rear leg is still healing from a dog attack, and the base of his tail and his tush are still clipped short from the removal of BBs. In spite of these indignities and injuries, he is loving and attentive and wants to be wherever you are.
The Poetry Friday Round up is at Under the Covers.
Willie Morris is built like a tank, with a broad head, a wide chest, and look at those feet! He fills up the space under my desk (albeit more comfortably than the dog did). He stays true to the poem in that he does spread comfort beneath himself (unless he's trying to curl up on your chest in bed), and you do walk around him as if he were City Hall (although not in the sense the poet had in mind, I'm sure)!
Willie Morris is a +/-2 year-old rescue cat. His right rear leg is still healing from a dog attack, and the base of his tail and his tush are still clipped short from the removal of BBs. In spite of these indignities and injuries, he is loving and attentive and wants to be wherever you are.
The Poetry Friday Round up is at Under the Covers.
Mary Lee,
ReplyDeleteI have a fat cat named Abby. She is a true character. She's good company--often sitting on the chair beside me when I work at the computer.
Thanks for sharing one of my favorite cat poems.
This poem won me in the first line. Then Willie Morris won me with his battle scars, and his inability to "walk thin."
ReplyDeleteThe pictures are great...
LOVE HIM!
ReplyDeleteI love all cat things! Great poem.
ReplyDeleteMy two cats have such different personalities.
One looks like a black and white bowling ball! I think she maintains her dominance by eating!
My other cat is a mild and shy persian who always looks confused.
Like yours, my cats have a great life!
What a cute poem, and an even cuter kitty!
ReplyDeleteMary Lee, you named your cat Willie Morris? That is just so awesome. I never met the original Willie Morris, but at one point, I had (and read) every one of his books.
ReplyDeleteSusan,
ReplyDeleteI'm glad someone appreciates Willie Morris' literary name! (And you would say it with the appropriate southern accent that we Yankees don't quite get right!)
Elaine and Karen,
Thanks for the cat stories!