Owen M. Cat, with a little help from Jayne de Constant
They are having what they call “a party”.
I call it a jumble.
When I heard the voices, I knew that I was in trouble.
I like to hear low deep voices that belong to men.
I am a man and feel comfortable showing my claws and
my teeth to other men.
But these are voices that are high in tone
and I hear the noises that go along with small children.
How could my mother who feeds me and lets me sit close
to her in comfy silence let this happen?
Every seat is taken.
My favorite couch spot is occupied by THAT WOMAN
who flinches when I approach.
A jumble. It is time to nap before I go to bed.
How could this happen?
This is my house, my world.
I will claw my rug. I will eat the silly plant.
I will cough up a fur ball.
I will hide under the bed and hope the jumble ends.
Copyright © Rye Reflections 2007. All rights reserved.