Stan and Bette Solomons

The key
to every cat’s inscrutable psyche,
is what one can only say
is a compulsion, an obsession,
for elegance.

Hence,
wherever he may roam,
he stops to groom and comb
with a pink probing tongue,
preening and furrowing the fur,
along one slim foot poised in air.

Eyes closed in ecstasy
he sways
in a lissom
miracle of rhythm
and feline autism.

“Felis sana in corpore sano!”

She stoops and sits
with a cold interest
and lack of pity
over her punctured prey
whose life spills away
in a red stain.

She relishes the game,
eager to play
again.

Deep in the lazy afternoon,
Stroked by the sun,
The cat lies long,
Ears shut against the clangour
Of the street,
Eyes tight against the light,
In a slow dream of langour.

A boy comes by,
Full of a wicked joy,
And twists the tempting tail.

The dream evaporates,
In a swift feline hate,
That scores a ruby trail,
Across his flesh.

A mere scratch,
A cat nip, soon forgot.

A languid stretch,
And she resumes her nap.

Sculpted and still
As crystal
They pose
With nose to nose
Upon the garden wall
And wail.

Skeins of kittens by the fire
Plumping pillows for each other,
Sisters, brothers, lying there,
Purring at their leisure.

Embers softly glow and dance,
Fickle flames leap up to kiss
Interlacing hedonists,
Each in happy trance.

Carefully they veil their eyes,
Treading with their tiny mittens,
Kneading each complaisant kitten
Lost in mother memory
Of milk and happiness and warmth,
Before the kindly hearth.

Cold air seeps
beneath the door,
along the slabs,
across the floor.

Daylight weeps
through dusty glass
and embers grimace
grey behind the clenched
teeth of the kitchen range.

Two cats sleep
round and sound
upon the hearth,
hoarding their warmth.

Tendrils of cooking creep
and curl around
their nose and pose
succulent questions.

They cannot stand this inquisition,
interposed in their mind
between food and sleep.

So they unwind .

They stretch and yawn
and face the dawn.

When cats relax,
in slender sleep,
lying like crushed velvet
on the best chair,
they are still soft aware
of sight and sound,
and what goes on, around.

They see and hear no evil
but their lashes flicker,
and lace the eye,
ears prick and swivel
in every sense,
and sinews tense.

When cats relax
and take their nap,
there is no gap,
it seems
between reality, and dreams.

Certain
that he is one of us,
one of our kin,
albeit more exotic,
he twines and rubs
around our legs,
sinuous, erotic,
eyes tight and tail erect,
one of the elect.