The Cat On The Stairs

The cat on the stairs
Is a magnificent creature
A wonder for the eye to behold

Silken and spotted
He answers your questions
Talk and you think
He understands

Like any cat
You know he knows
With a glint in his eye
A word of wisdom
Fixed on what?

That’s the question.
If it’s a mouse
There’s a twitch in the
Swishing tail
Chatter from tiny teeth

Not one to be messed
Around with.
Unless of course you
Are a dog.

Then all bets are off.
Big puppy horses
With hearts larger
Than the stomach

They allĀ  say all he wants
Is to play
Be it with a rubber bone
Or with a tiny tire

But as any wise cat
Will tell you:
A dog is a dog
With gnashing teeth
And a gleam in its eye
Large, so very large indeed
Not something
To trifle with
Even if

As we all know

The cat is the one who
Rules the roost.
When faced with
The prospect of brute force
Loving or not
It just isn’t dignified
(or so he’d have us believe)
To be chased by
A big black dog.

And so he is
The cat on the stairs
Standing behind the gate
His kingdom waiting
(and he won’t mention
the other big orange cat
who just doesn’t care
and just ventures everywhere

Instead our big strong cat
With wild blood
And polka dots
Banned in places
Who just don’t know
A bengal is a spotty
House cat


The secret’s safe with us
Until and when
The feline world is safe again
With sleeping dog trapped
Behind the little mental bars
Of his cage
Where he lies sleeping

Of wandering cats proclaiming
The territory once again
Until it seems,
Its daytime.

For you must know
As every cat does
That daytime is for dogs
And squirrels.

Night time is
The domain of cats
On the prowl
And that’s that.

So spotty cats
Will wait upon a stair
Not impatient, no
Without a word or notice
That would be unseemly
For such a noble cat.

Some Things Are Special, by Catherine M. Harris

A boy and a dog
A boy and a dog
Some Things Are Special

Memories are made
Of little things
A touch, a word
Something left unsaid.

Some things in life
I wish could go on forever:
The smell of a new baby’s hair
Their first word,
First step.
So many memories.

Those are the big small things.

Other things,
Much more important
So soon forgotten,
Are the times between words
When we are who we are
And we do what we do
Because we do.

And somebody loves you for it.
Believe me.
They do.

It’s what you do in small things
That matters more than anything.

So long Wizard, we love you.
March, 2009.