Anecdote | Poetry

The Cat(s) And The Mouse

A ritualistic tale

I don’t know where I’d be without my furry pets Even though Bubba a brat right from the outset Booboo more chill, an orphaned stray Rescued from the SPCA

With two cats in my house, things can get a little nuts For starters, they love to lick each other’s butts! Now, I know it perfectly normal for cats But as a human, I’m kinda grossed out by that

They get on pretty well for the most part Although the little one has developed the art Of annoying his brother incessantly so — It seems to be in his portfolio

They zoom around the house (it is quite small) Chasing each other, often ending in a brawl Playfighting mostly, but sometimes there are teeth When Bubba has Booboo pinned underneath

There are moments of love and lots of licking Those times completely at their picking It’s the sweetest thing I have ever seen Grooming each other ’til their fur does sheen

But the one behaviour I am curious about Is something Booboo does when its time to chill out He starts searching for his favourite mouse If not on my bed, it’s somewhere in the house.

This happens just after I’ve thrown in the towel All the while he’s making an awful yowl Once found, onto my bed he hops And switches to purring — the mouse still in his chops

He constantly circles, while kneading with his paws Back arched, fur raised, a mouse in his jaws Around and around, and around he persists His ears pinned back, still purring as he twists.

What’s up with that? Never before have I seen And cats part of my life since I was a bean Ten minutes, plus at each kneading dance It’s like he is in some kind of trance

I dare not touch him just in case He snarls or hisses back in my face. The crazy kitty even knows not to jump On Booboo’s dance, for he’ll be a right grump!

Finally, he settles into a spot on my bed Invariably his whole body completely spread Hogging a good chunk of space meant for me His body rested (and rather weighty)

But he’s terribly delicious so it’s completely fine I’m honoured my bed is some kind of shrine Deep in slumber, he’s so relaxed After all that circling, he is completely taxed

The mouse is deposited by his side, in view Until the following night when it’s déjà vu Religiously he performs this curious act Like some form of ritualistic pact

My bed is a graveyard for three fake mice (He has a selection in case Bubba’s not nice) Plonked on the covers, like gifts to give thanks For feeding, caring and tolerating their pranks

Despite their quirks, demands and claws I couldn’t live without those eight furry paws They’re cuddly and cute and ever so smart And forever will occupy a huge place in my heart.

Authors note: This is a true account of what my cat does most nights!