Ode to Beast

In my last post, I let the cat out of the bag about the fact that I’m a crazy cat lady. This is an accurate diagnosis, I think, because my symptoms include: preferring her to most people, going home early Saturday nights because a cat on my lap feels better than partying, talking to her because she ‘gets me’, and using “I have to feed my cat” as a valid way of worming out of social engagements.

So in honour of my lovely beast Purdy, here’s a portrait of Her Meowjesty and a poem, entitled ‘Ode to Beast’.


PURDY BEAST

Purdy is friendly when you touch her correctly
She purrs and arches to accommodate your hand
But if you rub too rough she’ll fuck up your arm
with claws Jules dared to trim.

She pounds on the bedroom door
because nocturnal solitude isn’t acceptable
Jules sprays water at her, which is a nuisance
Not a deterrent — not discipline! — surely.

When she manages to get inside,
she attacks the enemy’s sheeted feet
then returns to her kitchen
just to show she doesn’t give a piss.

The bathtub is her secret spot
As is under the bed
(harder now that she got fat)
(light kibble made her a popple.)

Other cats won’t do
Or dogs
Or men
Or alarms
But rock music is fine
Bugs are fun
Birds look neat
— for now.

Spinach is tasty
and houseplants
and string
and tuna
But not salmon, she regrets
— too heavy.