Saturday, June 15, 2013

Mokey






'Mokey (at One and One-Half)

The other brothers, two big black beasts,
Eat, play, hunt, sleep. Puzzle, your box mate,
Still clumsy and headlong, will leap on a
Shoulder like it's a chair back, and down
Onto an unsuspecting belly, from his perch.
He'll nuzzle you, face to face, and purr at a
Touch, and go out and get lost in the woods.

Wuzzy, the little lost kitten, always in a different
Place than Mokey and Puzzle when we'd look
Turns out to be most perfectly a Cat,
He's calm, confident, happy.
He hunts, likes to eat but not needy, noble, lithe.
He doesn't get lost, but sometimes (we theorize)
Goes far away to see what's there. And he's the
One that treed himself on New Years Day, and
Got rescued by a very expensive boom truck operator,
Which he thought I think was just his due.

Mokey is the most attentive. He must have kept
An eye peeled, in those mysterious two months, the
First two, in the shed. Mother coming and going.
She'd tell him to watch out for the brothers, or
Maybe he just knew that was his task. He might be
The oldest. He might have a different father, judging
By his coat. Now he knows, when the light comes,
That there are little creatures stirring, and he must
Catch them. It's about food, it's about survival: for
Him, his brothers, maybe even us. He looks under
Everything, and climbs the refrigerator. He finds
A wrapped cough drop on a shelf, and picks it down.
He jumps on my keyboard, and has learned that
Just the tiniest flick of a claw
Will make things happen.

I think of him back in the shed. In the dark.
Mother has gone out to hunt. The wind blows
And the trees creak in the cold early March, late
Winter that is all he knows of life. His brothers
Sleep, snuggled together. He leans against them
For warmth. He watches the crack in the door.
He must be prepared. So it is every morning,
At first light.

Wednesday Update:

Write a nice poem elevating the little bugger to Homeric status and what does he do (see comments)? Immediately falls out of a tree like a silly squirrel. He did land well at least, and is fine, and last night snuggled all night against my leg without deciding I needed to get up at 3 AM. We still love him unconditionally.

2 comments:

  1. you are making me like cats.

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  2. The great myth that there are "cat people" and "dog people" is just that, a myth. I've owned a dog or two, and loved 'em. Day after writing this post Mokey fell out of a tree--a pretty long drop too. He was fine, sticky with cedar sap. He's taken to chasing lizards up trees, and I think a branch broke with him on it. Yesterday when I got home a tiny yellow kitten was on the porch! We suspect it was dropped off on the road--never seen it before, and no sign at all of a litter around here. Sheesh.

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