My ageing moon cat
is not underneath the house.
She’s put out the sign, ‘Gone hunting,
the sun.’ I call her and call her.
A storm all night. In the morning,
she’s at the backdoor,
wet with summer rain,
and draped with cobwebs,
but her whiskers are sparklers
straight from the sun.
A white cat can never
get warm enough.
one I wish I'd written (though my two cats are closer to black)!
ReplyDeleteThe sense of the mysterious in this is great!
ReplyDeleteI think I'm in love with that white cat (though mine is very black).
ReplyDeleteWhat a relief that she turned up!
ReplyDeleteI love 'ageing moon cat', ' "Gone hunting the sun" ' and, 'her whiskers are sparklers' ... and indeed, all of it.
I'm in the majority here, with another black cat, lol – though mine has white whiskers and is named for the moon goddess (Selene). Now I too am fascinated by your white cat, whose personality as well as appearance you have so deftly sketched.
Such a lovely poem, Efi. The tone is magical.
ReplyDeleteA lovely poem.
ReplyDeleteI too have a white cat and I enjoy watching her walk around in the moonlight.
Thank you, everyone! The little bugger even learnt how to spell....that's another story. :)
ReplyDelete