“The ideal of calm exists in a sitting cat” Jules Renard
Tiger Cat
I am a tiger cat
Hear me roar!
My furry stripes
I am wearing proud
Sometimes picking a fight
‘Cause I like being loud
But when groomed and fed
And safely resting in bed
I am a cute little kitty
Without any hissy fitty
I am a soft kitty
Hear me purr
Cats and, Dogs
Cats and, Dogs
Put them in a box
What secrets untold
Before you unfold
When the box is opened
Only keep hoping
There is no other agenda
Are they friends or enemies
Or just plain frenemies
That is the age old dilemma
Of Cats with Dogs
“Cats are the best, soft and fluffy and… completely ignoring you!” Gun Roswell
Striped Feline
Striped feline
Or a soft purring ball
How easy to unwind
Soon to a sleep fall
Hypnotized
By those wide eyes
The limber steps
Command respect
You can never own them
Just borrow for a while
But rest assured, the little gems
Will leave you in big smiles
“Time spent with cats, is never wasted”
The Lookout Cat
The lookout cat, at her very post
Neatly and frozen, staying, in the exact same pose
In her current pray, she seems, totally engrossed
Or just maybe, she already had a feast and ate a roast
And now only digesting, is the utter and most
Task she is able, for the least this moment, to coast
“Cat hair all over the place!” Gun Roswell
Black cat on the street
A black cat, proudly sat
In the middle of the street with utter and total ease
She did not move one single inch
Not even in a really, in a tight pinch
Passers by, simply, needed to beside her to slide
As this proud black, was cat sitting ever so wide
Her face was calm and her nose was up
Nothing would her now settled mood stop
She was only gazing, at the clear blue skies
Maybe, because it was as far as the crow could fly
This black cat’s attitude was totally snide
Sassy and bossy, with fur so gloriously glossy
As she clearly was the only owner, and the queen of this street
All kinds of witches are about, usually all year long, but especially on Easter!” Gun Roswell
Ye Old Witch
She is so old, her teeth are gold
She is almost blind and bold
But never the lesser one
Usually, having all the fun
When she smiles
There is no vile
The children she likes
Never ever strikes
Only candy will she eat
When she is riding on that broomy seat
Her charm is the grey cat
Which has become quite fat
Cheers and best wishes to all
Before the cauldron her again calls
And until next Easter
She will be off her keister
“Cats are the best kind of pets, always” Gun Roswell
Saturday, spent with Cats
When the world outside
Gets to be too much of a stride
There is one thing on you can rely
The cats of the furry kind
They don’t really ask too much
Once in a while a simple touch
The food to be delivered to their cups
And later on to coddle as such
A day well spent indoors
Even if you ignored much of them chores
For other wise life would be a total bore
If it wasn’t for the cats you so much adore
“Thar be cats here!” Gun Roswell
One cat, two cats, three cats
At first, one solemn cat appeared
Then another joined it on the pier
Then a third one from somewhere
Came along side the two dears
Turning my head along the beach
I thought that the total number had reached
But as I turned back to take a look
Something really inside me shock
The litter had grown to a number so high
I thought it was about to take flight
The cats had come out en masse
And it wasn’t any kind of religious mass
As they all started to meow
It would have scared the farmers cow
The noises raining everywhere so loudly
As the felines were singing proudly
Then an instant it all stopped
And before anyone realized
All them cats, were gone
“The hunter cats, are on the prowl, naturally, it’s Caturday!” Gun Roswell
Caturday Hunt
The two leaders of the hunter cats
Walked up to each other for a quick chat
Planning all of their next moves
As around the street they grove
This is all carefully thought
All, this, the Caturday plot
Nothing the hunter cats do is random
That is why they got such a great fandom
Even the kittens join the litter
Some even adorned with glitter
The bigger ones teaching and guiding
Soon they all will be thriving
In this Saturday hunt
For the cats so very blunt
“So, the cat is black, and ain’t taking no slack, it’s good is all!” Gun Roswell
The black cat, who sat
The blackest of cats
Quit prettily sat
On the street so flat
“Move along you darn black cat!”
A passerby evilly spat
And did not even shake his hat
But the pretty black cat
Just continued without a fret
Watching, observing life on the stat
After all, she was not from here
But from another sphere
Far, far, far away behind the atmosphere
Sent to watch us
Us small humans with all that fuss
And then, without much
The pretty black cat
Vanished, just, like that!
Rantings Of A Third Kind 