Cat Poems II
Gail White

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                    ’Feral’, Freepik.com

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Feeding the Feral Cats

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Three at the door tonight –

big ugly orange one,

two gray and white –

staring reproachfully

over the empty dishes:

Where are the loaves and fishes?

 

And I put out some food,

having no more excuse than that

I might be heaven’s feral cat -

driven by cold despair,

not seeking warmth or bed

or even entrance there –

but sure of being fed.

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Edna Millay’s Goldfish

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The world stands out on either side,

no wider than the bowl is wide.

Above the world is stretched the sky,

no higher than the water’s high.

 

The fish that bears a valiant heart

can push the glassy walls apart,

and with a visionary soul

beholds Atlantis in his bowl.

 

But he whose heart is parched and spare

even in water gasps for air,

and he whose soul is thin and flat

is candy for the family cat.

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Why Cats Keep Turning Up In My Work

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Cats blink at dogs of little wit

who fawn and flutter round their master,

knowing their own aloofness bit

gets what they want and gets it faster.

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A cat survives on brain and nerve;

its feral life is fierce and fecund,

and yet its dignified reserve

makes Greta Garbo come in second.

 

Although their servants may be slow

and need to be discreetly prodded,

cats never beg, because they know

that once in Egypt they were godded.

 

As such their images are used

in sinewed line and sinuous rhythm.

In sport they keep the Muse amused,

and even in sleep the Force is with them.

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’Feeding the Feral Cats’ was first published in Alabama Literary Review. The Millay parody has been here and there, including in the anthology of cat poems, Purr and Yowl.

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Gail White is a formalist poet whose totem animal is the cat, as evidenced by her chapbook of cat poetry, Catechism. She lives in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, where she currently owns two cats and feeds three others.

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