Monday, 10 April 2017

Mistress Green Eyes

It's Poetry Monday!

Started by Diane at On the Alberta/Montana Border, picked up by Delores at Mumblings, and open to one and all to participate either on your own blog, or on Diane's or Delores', or right here, in the comments. If you post it on your own blog, leave us a link in the comments so we can go check it out.

April is National Poetry Month in some parts of the world (which I knew, but forgot because of the bronchial ick). This means it is your patriotic duty to leave a line or two! (well, depending on where you live) ... It can be your own or some favourite lines from a poem or song. Anything, people! Work with me here!

Or you can just read and enjoy. Or, alternatively, read and leave a ... constructive ... comment.

Oh, heck, you can even get up and do an interpretive dance if you want. But we'll want to read about that in the comments also. Preferably with a photo or a link to YouTube.

Today's poem is the story of how we came to have the cat who most recently arrived to live with us. Recently doesn't mean recent. It just means she's the last in the long line of cats who have shared our home. She's unlike any other cat we've had. You must obey all her special rules of engagement or else she will mangle your person, and she can't be around our other cats because of her very territorial temperament. It takes two of us and a boatload of courage to clip her claws. The vet has to wear leather gloves to her elbows when the cat goes in for her periodic steroid shot (kitty has allergies, in an ironic twist for all those out there who are allergic to cats).

But we manage.

Here she is:

Oops! That's the Cat-a-saurus view.

HERE she is:

Just hanging out while Donkey blogs. Or tries to.


Mistress Green Eyes

One spring day, while walking,
I met you first my dear.
I bent to pick you up, and
You boxed me on the ear.

The lady in her driveway
Said you'd been hanging round;
But when I asked the neighbours
No owner could be found.

You ate my kitties' kibble
And drank and drank and drank.
And cowered in the bathroom
Beneath the toilet tank.

You didn't like the menfolk;
You'd had a scare, we guessed.
And even with the ladies
You seemed less than impressed.

As days turned into months,
And months turned into years,
You slowly learned to trust us
And let us scritch your ears.

Those years have also taught you
The fun that toys can bring --
The rapture of a catnip ball,
The quick delight of string.

You're still a feisty feline;
We keep one eye on you.
You're apt as not to bite us
If you think it's good for you.

And yet, you're always close by,
Where we can both be seen;
And if we're not together,
You're parked halfway between.

For five years now we've loved you;
No longer "new" - you're Home.
And now, my Mistress Green Eyes,
You're even in A Poem.



  1. Very, very familiar. And for some reason my eyes are sweating.
    Thank you.

    1. I thought of your Jazz fellow while writing this ...

      Thanks, EC.

  2. Looks like Google ate my 1st comment, but I compliment your impressive Cat-a-saurus view --amazing!--and offer my only cat poem from "Invalid's Workshop", Feb.14, 2015:

    When I was a boy of fifty,
    Jones the cat would find
    My lap wherever I sat and
    Share his habitual nap --
    His posture toward existence.
    And, at his insistence,
    I too would slip consciousness.
    We were friends, I guess.

    (There's a Normaphoto of Jones and me in 2000, when I was a boy of 50)

    1. Thank you for including your poem, Geo.! I love it - and it sounds like Jones felt you were friends, too.

      The Cat-a-saurus photo was an accident :)

    2. Sweet little poem Geo......the best way to take a nap is with a purring cat on your lap.

  3. Oops! Sorry, the poem appeared on "Gardening with Geo." Right date though.

  4. How touch!
    lovely expressions for your adorable pet my dear friend!
    you are brilliant at your skill of poetry as i can see how nicely you mentioned the whole story of her discover to till today and how amazingly you described the bounding you developed with your pet through these five years.
    she is lucky to have you .
    Interesting photos last one made me laugh

    1. Thank you, baili - you are a careful reader and always understand what I am trying to say. The last photo makes me smile too. There is no typing when that cat decides to lie down in front of the keyboard :)

  5. I love your poem. She seems very calm and relaxed in the photo, but I know looks can be deceiving!

    1. Yes, and she can go from relaxed to firecracker in zero seconds :)

  6. Awww. What a sweet kitty and a sweet poem

    1. Sweet is not really the word to describe her; she uses her teeth and claws too readily! But we love her anyway :)

      Thanks, TBF.

  7. Your poem is delightful. Cats have many moods, some a little dark, but they entertain us and even if they are contrary, we love them.

  8. This is delightful! I've never had a cat.
    Now I want one . . .

    1. This is not the kind to get, Diane!! Get a nice calm friendly cat if you ever do!

  9. It's good to see somebody passionate about poetry and willing to share with others.

    1. Thanks, Red - poetry is not really something I've pursued in the past but I am enjoying honing some different skills with this challenge. It's nice that people are willing to READ it, in my opinion :)

  10. Very sweet poem. Well done and thanks for sharing.

    PS: Our bigger pound puppy doesn't like the menfolk either.

    1. Thanks, Ivy!

      It's sad to think about what has probably happened to rescue pets before we get them, especially if they show fear toward some groups of people. I'm glad your pups have a good home now.

    2. I agree with you, it is sad. We don't know what Wiggy went through, but we do know that Bug was found in a ditch with her sister. All bones.

    3. What a shame! I cannot understand, I just cannot - how people can treat animals like that.

      There's a lot of suffering inflicted on animals by humans.

    4. Yes, I agree. It is horrible.

  11. Oh's beautiful. Makes me think of our old Rocky cat who would give you what for just because he felt like it. Such a great poem and a terrific shot even if it was an accident.

    1. Thank you, Delores. Some cats have attitude :)

    2. ... and yet they still have us wrapped around their furry paws ...

  12. I like your poem and I like your cat-pics and I have a long red mark down my forearm from when Ripcat Razortoes got feisty the other day.
    I don't have any cat-poems, but Briana does, and she's digging one up for me to share with you right now:

    Feline Performance Art: Form 2
    Form 2. Vaudeville:
    A Drunken Bender

    The cat comes onstage reeking of dignity.
    He implies a top hat,
    holds his tail in a formal catenary curve,
    all perfect grooming, to the whiskertips.

    A tiny smile seems to acknowledge audience anticipation
    -his act is the justly famous Transformation,
    sophisticated toff to maniacal degenerate.

    For the first drink he mimes tossing back a shot,
    using his catnip stuffed mouse.
    Ah, it must have been whiskey!
    (we can tell by the headshake/shiver)

    Another, if you please!
    Again he flings it back, with even more flair
    and almost without pause
    turns to snatch up the 'glass',
    this time treating it a bit more roughly-
    (the illusory top hat disappears).

    The following drink takes some time;
    he carries it around awhile
    making gestures as if he's at a party

    By the time he downs another shot
    his aim is noticeably off-
    it goes wildly sideways.

    He scrambles after it
    pounces, and falls to the floor.
    The crowd roars appreciation
    and the piano player's tinkles switch to ragtime.

    Now he's thrashing about
    mauling the glass
    seemingly desperate to pick it up
    but far too drunk to manage it.

    His audience is incapacitated with laughter
    He retrieves the glass
    holds it high, in a parody of his earlier snootiness
    and exits to thundrous applause.

    That poem was about our friend's cat Samuel L. Jackson.

    -Doug in Oakland

    1. That is magnificent! I love it! Please thank Briana for sharing it.

      And ... Ripcat Razortoes? Real name or nickname? :)

    2. We started calling her that after she took to clawing this rubber mat that was on the porch for a while. It looks like it's been run through an industrial perforator...

      -Doug in Oakland

    3. Those claws can be very destructive. I love the name.

  13. HAHA! I love this. What a great poem and what a pretty kitty. She looks a little like one of our cats, save for the white paws. Our cat was slightly feral when she arrived. It took a long time to get her to trust, and even then, she only trusts me. In fact, she seems obsessed by me. I'm like some goddess to her. She lets me pet her, sits on my lap and follows me around (when it's not time for a nap). I think love and patience go a long way with these bruised souls.

    1. Thanks, Martha. And there are worse things than being a goddess :) You're so right about love and patience.

  14. When I first got my cat Howard (who's been dead now for 10 years) she also hid beneath the toilet tank. It's a cat thing, I guess!

    1. Our cat was shut up in there at the time, awaiting vet clearance on bloodwork. So she had no other place TO hide :)

  15. Hello Jenny, what a lovely poem and I enjoyed your photo's too.

    All the best Jan

    1. Thank you, Jan, and thanks for coming by.

  16. Lovely, Jenny_O...and so is your feline friend.

    1. Thanks, e - she's got a mind of her own, but she can be friendly now too :)

  17. Such a great cat poem! I used to have cats and for some reason I was the only one who could wash the cats and clip the cats' claws. My other family members were too scared of being scratched by them. But I just persevered and the cats got used to it.

    1. Thanks, Nicky. Washing a cat seems to take four hands, so well done for doing it by yourself!!

  18. Your poem and your pictures made me smile. Thanks


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