On the Cat Walk
The cat stalks by, her tail held high,
a paint brush trying to paint the sky.
Nose in the air, she doesn’t care,
I guess she’ll acknowledge me by and by.
She’s neat, so neat, on her tiny feet,
moving swiftly, fast and sweet,
heading for her kibble treat
which she always stops to eat.
Some day I’d like to be a cat,
sitting quietly on my mat,
or lying by the open door,
watching chipmunks on the floor,
stuffing their cheeks with seeds galore:
who could ever ask for more?
A reality show on live tv
specially made for my cat and me.
3 thoughts on “On the Cat Walk”
Except that should be ‘wreathed’ in smiles…
And no doubt smiling at both ends, one, all wrinkled in smiles; the other, purring.
‘Cats on the rooftop, cats on the tiles…’
LikeLiked by 1 person
That sounds like the start of a poem, John.