by Jim Curtis

Created on: August 28, 2009

From The Book of Cat By Quaerere

< 1 >

Cat waits before the screened door

posed like Buddha in repose.

It is barely dawn,

but the air is busy

with the chatter of birds.

Cat, whose ears hear

better than mine,

lies listening intently on the floor.

What do you hear, Quaerere?

What do they say?

My untuned, untrained ears

hear celebration, ancient love songs.

What does their singing say to you?

"Sorry, my friend, this morning

I hear only what my heart speaks."

How can the ear meant to read vibrations in the air

interpret what the heart speaks?

"You must learn to hear more than what disturbs the ear?"

<2>

Cat's high mountain

is the upper bunk

in the boys' room.

He loves to sit there,

just back off the edge,

his paws straight out in front

like the sphinx's,

his neck bulled,

his head held proudly,

exuding strength and mastery.

He is formidable

there in his high place

where only eagles and he dare go.

This doorway,

this passageway between

the hall and the boys' world,

is his Khyber Pass.

He guards it well

with his stern look

and unsheathed claws.

Cat is a mountain lion,

a panther, a leopard

in his high place.

<3>

Cat speaks eloquently

like his mentor,

William Shakespeare,

the Will of twenty-thousand words.

Will was mildly handicapped,

having only words.

Cat has those,

his tail,

and so much more.

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