Wild Creature
He sits nervously gnawing on a nut
Trying to act cool, unlike those country rodents
That scurry off at the sight of me.
His little nub of a tail flicking about
As if it was the grandest tail in town;
He’s not self-conscious about it at all--
You can tell,
Probably why I like him the most,
Though I feed them all.
He stops his laboring for a moment.
In one of those cuddly little poses
That looks like he’s praying comfortably
(To a dirty old walnut)
He gives me a glance,
At first with just one big brown eye
Then he turns and looks at me with both,
Gives me a silent nod as if to say
“Did you hear that?â€Â
It’s a rhetorical question;
He knows I can’t hear
As well as they do.
Then he stands on his hind legs
Still holding the nut
Stretches his nose
He sniffs, drops the nut
Then grabs the branch with all fours,
He looks back at me.
I smell it too--
That unforgettable musk of a tom
He scurries up the tree
Into his leafy little loft just
As the cat turns the corner.
Somebody should really do something
About that wild creature.
Note: No animals were hurt in the making of this poem, and it's about people, not cats.
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