DiggerI was inspired to write this poem last night by looking over on the ground and seeing my cat Digger laying there like a sack of potatoes. She was lying on her back, almost sleeping, and she looked so cute that I had to write a poem about her.
I have a cat,
Black and sleek,
Smoother then velvet,
Softer then silk.
She crouches, tense,
Waiting for the perfect moment,
Waiting to strike.
She does, but then remembers that
She doesn't have any claws, and leaves,
Discouraged, to go do something else.
I walk into my room and find her there,
Sleeping in a ball at the head of my bed,
Purring from the moment I touch her.
Everyone else thinks she's mean,
But no one knows my cat
Better then me.
She's old now, four, which is old
For a cat in my house.
They usually take a visit to Dr. Webster,
If you get what I mean.
But she's not going anywhere,
My sweet, precious