there is,
in my opinion,
nothing like,
the determination,
of  four and half kilos
of grey feline.
that wants...
to be fed at 5:37am.

the pushing
and bumfping,
the disproportinate roar,
of the basso profundo purr, in your right ear.

if still not convinced,
or just,
downright lazy
a whack with a southpaw
to the back of the head.
your attention will restore.
no you're still resisting
the charm.

then be aware,
of the flying leap & twist; landing on the midriff.

but, from years of dilligent training,
i have deduced,
the cold, wet nose, trailing across my exposed flesh,
is to best be avoided.

simply, by stumbling up,
from your rest....
and succumbing
to the mantra,
the cat knows best.....
fill the bowl,
be done with,
the furry pest.....

and hope you
can snooze for a while,
before.... you have to get up
and feed the rest....

If my cat could open the front door,
A lion he would be, roaming his savanah, stalking prey

If my cat could speak,
The words of wisdom would pour from his jaw,
sage advice and secrets galore.

If my cat could open the fridge door.
He would in heaven be,
a gourmand in a tatty fur coat.

If my cat could empty his own litter box .....
I would be ever so grateful, ever, ever so grateful.

my cat has dreams.
while sound asleep,
his little grey legs,
flex and run.
his ears ***** and tail lashes. he chatters that funny little hunter's cry.
sometimes i watch him
and smile,
thinking in his dreams,
he must be a panther or lion on the savanah,
or up a jungle tree stalking his dinner,
as does, a big sleek animal roaming.

some mornings,
when i wake.
from a deep sleep,
of half remembered dreams. i open my eyes,
to find my little cat watching me.
i ponder,
whether he attributes dream's meanings,
to my, nighttime
twitchings too.

there is,
in my opinion,
nothing like the..... determination
of a four and half kilo
of blugrey feline,
that,
wants,
to be fed ......
at 5:37am.

the pushing and bumfping the disproportinate roar
of the basso profundo purr, in your right ear,
if still not convinced
or just,
downright lazy,
a whack!!
with a southpaw
to the back of the head,
your attention will restore.

no you are,still
resisting the charm offensive.
then be aware
of the flying leap&twis;;, landing on the midriff.

but from years of dilligent training (on the part of the cat).
i have deduced....
the cold nose,
trailing across my exposed flesh is to best to be avoided.

simply by,
stumbling up from your rest
and succumbing to...
the mantra,
the cat knows best!!!
fill the bowl,
be done,(no never)
with the furry pest
and hope...
you can snooze for a while

rendolent of
stone grey gargoyle
he lies lizard flat
melded to the sun warm
cement by comfort
lassitudinally positioned
to collect sunrays

occassional movement
but as little,
as possible of that

have to say
i am awfully jealous
of that little blue cat

the disquiet...
of the morning,
awakens me....
the magpie's squabble...
the wood pigeons.... cloying...
.. cooing love song..
the raucous, cacophony... of
the kookaburras ....as they sort out .....todays..... territorial hierachy...
........... all proclaim
morning has ......broken
.......in a sleep shattering... way
but... still ...today.. i try to eke
out ......a few more winks
....a few more.... .....moments....
of.... semi-conscious bliss
oh! .......... to .....close ....my eyes
and ....dream some more...
....but no!!!..... the cat
........is having
....................none of that.....
the birds are up...
and he........ housebound....
is hungry..... hungry...***..

when we have people come visit.
i find myself saying, normally, somewhere
within the first half hour.

the following,
in one form or another;
let me explain about the cat. no he is not unwell,
nor does he have a skin condition.
thats the way they come, devon rex's.

yes i know,
they look like
little *** bellied men,
who having been,
startled by the ringing,
of the front doorbell.
have grabbed their
wife's tatty chennile bathrobe,
but then have not,
tied the sash,
so now show,
an almost, indecent
amount of wrinkly flesh.

yes" their fur is so soft, like down,
except for the front paws they are like crushed velvet gloves.

no i am sorry,
he is not a climb up
and snuggle into your lap cat he is a more of a,
stare at you, weigh you up,
find you wanting,
until it's all becomes,
sort of awkward cat.
if he does happen
to approve  -
and in all honesty,
he probably won't.

i don't want to get your hopes up,
but if he does,
you will be presented,
with a token,
it may be a lizard or a bug
or moth, but pencils, a sock and pet ***** have also been gifted.

yes, he is unusual
but that is
the beauty of the breed
and the beauty of the Gus,cat.

we went shopping this morning,
then to the movies.
all the time,
the little voice in my head
was telling me,
i had forgotten
an important chore.

we were gone three, four hours.
the little voice niggling away.

got home just now
and remembered
as i opened the front gate.

forgot to lock the catflap
gus's in/outdoor.
well, by now, its far too late.

you see gus,
the little grey cat
is a collector, not a
hunter of things.

if god forbid,
he were a dog.
he would be one
of those retreivery things.

he finds and he brings,
normally to his food bowl.
so now, we are in the kitchen
and were taking stock.

one mangled penny lizard
and two other tails.
one drowned moth,
one feebly swimming still
three dazed cicadas,
one belly up and by
the sound a few more yet
to be found
a praying mantis, sans one claw
and something else,
mushed into the floor
a magpie feather,
but,(thank god) not the bird
our little grey cat,
flat out on the mat.
it has been a big morning,
no doubt about that.

he sleeps on, oblivious.
as we his minions,
clean up his mess,
as best we can.
from experience the lizards,
find their own way out.
the cicadas, we find,
when they sing
their discordant song,
reminding me, all day long
my little voice,
not ever wrong.