Pet – KensView

My Highness

In a bright room where the sun beams dance,
there I sit perched on a cushioned throne,
regally aloof and unperturbed by the clutter
of a world not suited to my august stature.
My eyes are impervious orbs, chill crescents
that gaze through tight lids at the current scene
filtering out the chaos of my subjects’ souls—
fond, but fumbling denizens of my domain.
Their human voices, symphony of uneven notes,
fall like scattered autumn leaves all about me,
with coochies of affection, swoons of adoration,
failing to budge me from my afternoon scheme.
I just stretch in a languid arc of feline grace,
feigning boredom while my humans croon
their crude, ear-grating paeans of devotion,
soundtracks to my staid and patient resignation.
And as day wanes and heat leaves the room,
I will purr out a “Meow,” a calculated bridge
between the sacred space of my solitude
and the clumsy affection of human hearts.
In that certain moment, when I deem it so,
I may settle in closer, perhaps just an inch,
to signal that, “I acknowledge your presence,
but remember, I’m still master of this realm.”
My subjects, ever grateful for this fleeting gift,
stroke my coat with hands trembling in awe,
clueless that tolerance is my boon and grace,
and affection a crown I wear lightly, if at all.
Thus, in ordained tandem, rule is maintained:
a sovereign planet alongside faithful moons,
each tethered together in a perpetual tango
by the gravity of my immutable indifference.

The Smallest Grinder

Life’s no beach, no bones about it;

The old bones ain’t what they used to be.

Day after day, week after week,

Forever tethered, he drags me over here.

Then just when I get settled in, he says,

“Move over, make room for one more.”

It wouldn’t be so, so terribly bad,

But I’m subjected to all that verbal abuse.

Those Grinders, a noisy, smelly bunch,

Grate my ears with their endless whining

Of prices rising high, politicos going low,

Nyah nyah nyah, which I pretend not to hear.

While I do have a lot to complain about,

It’s not as bad as the ASPCA shows on TV.

His training took me too long to trade him,

And there’s something about him that I lap up.

It’s a dog’s life, but somebody’s got to do it.

Keep those cups of Joe coming, Dave.

Thanks for your steadfast loyalty.

Going Goodnight

When night goes knock, knock at our house door,
It’s time to take my toys from the floor.
Although sometimes I make a deep frown,
I soon agree to wind myself down.
Next I get ready to eat my food
To make sure I am in a good mood.
Up the stairs, there are my teeth to brush;
Then comes a warm bath with little rush.
This is followed by comfy bedclothes
That in winter may cover my toes.
Really close to Neny/Ninga I huddle,
So I get a very good cuddle.
As she reads with me now under sheet,
Her voice becomes soft and very sweet.
She whispers and bellows as the wind,
And buzz, buzz, buzzes like bees that spin.
One time growling, she’s a big, big bear,
She then purrs like Fennel with no care.
Dragons yodel and a castle floats,
With dancing grandpas and smarty goats.
Soon my eyes begin to grow bleary,
And my head gets heavy and weary.
Drifting off gently in Neny’s/Ninga’s arms,
I dream of rainbows and pretty charms.