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by Barbara Etlin
Last night it snowed again.
Winter had its last laugh
at people who put away
winter boots and snow shovels.
But you're an outdoor cat.
Or, at least,
Annie thinks so.
Do outdoor cats
glory in the machismo
of lying under my car
waiting until the last moment
before I start the engine?
I've seen your grey-and-white furball
sunning on Annie's kitchen windowsill
as if you were waiting to be served a drink
on your own private beach.
Do outdoor cats
meow plaintively
under the canopy
outside my front door?
Last night it snowed again...
But you're an outdoor cat.
Or, at least,
Annie thinks so.
Copyright Barbara Etlin 1997, all rights reserved
For more Poetry Friday purr-fection, check Greg Pincus's
GottaBook.
The perfect poem to start my weekend, Barb. We're supposed to have snow all day tomorrow (it's the coldest March in England in 50 years) and I don't know what the local "outdoor" cats are going to make of it...
ReplyDeleteHibernate like the bears? ;-)
DeleteBrrr. Keep warm and thanks for reading my poem, Amy.
*Love it*
ReplyDeleteA cat fancier myself. Yes, they have real authority, these outdoor cads.(Intended.)
Not only did Annie's cat sleep under our car; he liked to climb onto our roof and then remember he was afraid of heights. M would have to climb up to rescue him.
DeleteBeautiful poem, Barbara!
ReplyDeleteThanks and thanks for reading it, Becky!
DeleteThe mysteries of a cat...
ReplyDeleteCats are beautiful and intriguing, but I'm more of a dog person. :-)
DeleteLove it. I'm a dog owner now, but growing up it was always cats. Outdoor cats.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Ruth!
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I love this, Barb. I think I know this cat. And Annie. :)
ReplyDeleteA cat with chutzpah! Even if he didn't know his own mind.
DeleteThanks, Susan. :-)