In the depths of my despair, when all seemed doomed,
A furry companion entered my life, a gift bloomed.
Rocket, a cat with eyes that shone like stars,
Became the beacon that guided me through life's wars.

I had lost all hope, my soul weighed down by sorrow,
Drowning in a sea of darkness with no glimpse of tomorrow.
But this feline friend, with his playful antics and gentle purr,
Slowly began to mend the wounds that time could not deter.

Rocket, with his boundless energy and infectious cheer,
Reminded me that life was worth living, that joy was near.
He would prance and leap, chasing imaginary prey,
Bringing laughter and levity to even the gloomiest day.

As I watched him explore the world with such unbridled delight,
I found myself drawn back to the simple pleasures once out of sight.
The way he would curl up beside me, offering warmth and solace,
Soothed my troubled mind and allowed my heart to find its place.

With Rocket's unwavering loyalty and unconditional love,
I discovered a strength I had long forgotten, a light from above.
He became my constant companion, my faithful friend,
A reminder that even in the darkest of times, hope can transcend.

Through the gentle touch of his paw, the nuzzle of his nose,
Rocket showed me that life's journey is not meant to be one of woes.
He taught me to embrace the present, to savor each moment with glee,
For, in the end, it is the small joys that truly set our spirits free.

As I look back on the days when Rocket came into my life,
I am filled with a profound gratitude, a sense of renewed strife.
For this feline savior, with his unwavering spirit and grace,
Has forever etched his paw prints upon my heart's sacred space.

Rocket, my dear friend, my reason to live and to thrive,
Your presence has ignited a flame within me, a will to survive.
Through your unwavering love and steadfast companionship,
You have restored my hope and set my soul on a new, brighter trip.

The cats suspect that there’s a mouse
I think at first, a catnip toy…
The black cat sees the toy and grins…
And bats a mouse that rolls, then runs… then rolls again… and then
   they run
Behind a chair… The cat appears… and there’s the mouse,
He has it hanging from his mouth,
He puts it down… he has it pinned…
And then I see it run again.

I’m kind of sorry for the mouse, but after, all this is our house,
And cats see mice as natural prey. They really should just stay away
And learn to cope with life outside. But since it pressed its luck
   within,
I’m rooting for our cat to win.

Another chase, another pin… completely still…is this the end?
Well, no… he lets it go again.
The mouse heads for the cellar door, there’s safety on the basement floor
A blocking move! As good as dead? Another joke…the mouse has
   fled.
The cats give chase, but that’s the end. The mouse is hiding out again.

I notice that no blood’s been shed. Perhaps because the cat’s well fed,
The claws that tear cat toys to shreds have not appeared to slash his
   prey.
I guess that’s for another day, the drama here was just some play,
But now the traps are on the way.

The cat attacked the tree
everything came
falling down

The cat left
me picking up
the ornaments
and starting
all over again

Realizing that
I get a second chance
to decorate it
to put it together
again
in a different
way

*pauses and reflects
at healing in life

While walking through a wintry town
of weavers’ crackerbox houses of stone,
all with carved shutters and panes of wood,
I noticed I was far from alone.

A tabby cat sat on a sill
and looked at me with wet jade eyes.
I asked her what she for Christmas wills,
what sandy claws might bring as a prize.

She winked a blink as slow as tar
and gave me a sideways smile.
All she wanted was a door ajar
to sneak into with all her wiles.

Why yes, I opened the door for her,
and scarcely had she gone inside
that she returned with a satisfied purr
and said that she’d changed her mind.

This cat will do as she may please —
She’s a feline, fickle as a winter breeze.

my boots  by the door
wait patient  to be let out
the cat's less stoic

McKenzie sat, the feral cat
a ginger tom, a ***** brat,
he’s on the slab, he's at the vet,
he's innocent of the threat;
as scalpel steel –prepares to lop
his precious assets – for the chop.

He smirks and thinks of bowls of cream.
An instrument now stops his dream
while measuring his body’s heat:
a gross insult to his seat
that turns his grin into a pout
as he pushes the probe out.

This wicked cat – who seems serene,
his outward visage  looks so clean
external dirt can never stick,
but succumbing to his lick
it passes through that moggy’s gut
and out of an unblemished ****.

The player fears the game is up
he sees the proffered poisoned cup,
now he's exposed: the ***** rat.
Dies Irae for that cat –
the stoneless subject of our mirth –
as ball-less he departs the Earth.

Like a cat, I am unpredictable,
following you around wanting your touch.
And I act like I love and want you,
Only to retreat when it's all too much.