"Jim's Tale" (Entry 553)

This is the tattered tale of a cat called Jim. 

He was ragged and scared and painfully thin. 

It started when his owners bought a kitten that year. 

Soon Jim was forgotten, unwanted, thrown out on torn ear. 

Spent his time, touring bins, but they offer a little picking. 

If seen by the humans, he cowered away from a kicking. 

Shaken and frozen, famished day and night. 

Poor moggy Jim lived out his plight. 

Then one fateful eve, when this destitute kitty was near his end. 

He limped to a warm spot for this time to spend. 

Upon a warm grate, he curled up his scrawny lot,

And drifted into dreams right there on the spot. 

He dreamt of smiling faces and cuddles and bowls of fish,

He dreamt of strokes, a fully warm belly, and his own milk dish. 

He dreamt of being lifted and floating in the air,

He dreamt of loud music, coloured lights and an red armchair. 

On and on, as he slept, the perfect dream persisted,

Then Jim realised he was awake, this wondrous place existed!

For he had found rest beside the stage door,

The theatre caretaker taking him in as rain began to pour. 

Slowly, he nursed Jim back to life,

Fed him, cleaned him, no more strife. 

"It's good to see you alert, ma old fella,

It was touch and go there, I'll tells ya!"

"This is your home now. You'll be safe, warm and fed." Frank the caretaker told him. 

"Anyone who finds their way to our door, will never be out on a limb."

"But you'll need to earn yourself a wage. 

By greeting people, and keeping rats from the stage."

Frank smiled and stroked the furry face. "What you think on that?"

Jim blinked and purred. A whole new start. He was now a Theatre Cat! 

"Not This Little Girl!" (Entry 483)

Vampires and Demons, Their Hunters and Ghosts. 

Gods and Fairies and Star Trek Outposts. 

Sci-fi and Fantasy and All Types of History. 

Comedy and Drama and Geek Tech and Mystery. 

Numbers and Words and A Well-Written Book. 

Documentary and Theatre and TV with a Hook. 

Conspiracy Tale and UFO Story. 

Any of this, and I'm in my glory. 

TARDIS, the Doctor, Strictly Saturday and laughter. 

Friends and Kitties, Steampunk and Delving the Hereafter. 

Eclectic in rhythm with a rock gothy twist. 

Magical thinking, all Supernatural, is right on my list. 

So sugar 'n' spice, gets some girlies glowing. 

This what makes me me and gets this one going!

"What am I to do?" (Entry 428)

In bed. 

Unwell. 

Fed up. 

What to do?

Radio's annoying. 

Telly's too boring. 

Cat is snoring. 

Help me! (imploring)

What am I to do?

Can't read, 

Words jump upon the page. 

Can't write,

Energy low, can't engage. 

What am I to do?

Body's buzzing. 

Head's all fuzzy. 

In a quandary,

In a tizzy!

What am I to do?

Take a drink. 

Think! Think!

Eyes blink, blink. 

On pillow, I sink. 

(Yawn!) What am I to do?

Feeling poorly. A sorry weep. 

Relax, recover. Let calmness creep. 

Recuperation into cells seep. 

I know what to do. Sleep, sleep, sleep!

"After You Left" (Entry 427)

When jokes blend with

Ether's hush

And smiles you've left

Gone way of Cheshire's cat. 

When long told yarns words

swept up with dust. 

I'll still remember the good times 

and all of that. 

"From the Waterfall of Words" (Entry 342)

There's a waterfall of words 

hidden,

deep within a land of plentiful stories. 

Kept in the box with a secret door,

in the lavender scented drawer

of the old lady in the corner house

who owns the nine cats. 

At night, these moggies

take flight, to turn into bats,

carrying Cups of Inspiration

dipped into the Babbling Book Brook,

Loquacious Library Lake and the Word Unheard Waterfall.

Once filled to trill and thrill,

the bountiful bowls of talent are

tied by silver slivers of a shivering idea.  

Flap your nocturnal wings, you mewing muses,

then blow imagination across the world, 

through golden hope hoops make thought bubbles. 

Creativity began. You know, you can!

They stirred and purred. A miaow - Do it now!

All from a waterfall of words 

hidden

in the box with a secret door.

"They're Not For Everyone" (Entry 304)

Sigh rasping,
internal overwhelmed,
displaced thoughts.

Colours drained

a long time ago.

Not again!

Dull eyes,
at fogged greyness
which suffocated
more efficiently
than any hangman's noose.

A glance
at stiffened cards.
On the front,
ugly cats doing something adorable.
Deplorable!

A wince.
What was coming next.
A swallow,
and another sigh
pushed into the cave where
hope and dreams and goals and desires rot.
The stagnant putrid part of the soul.

Raise of head.
Bare of white - millimetre by millimetre -
in a semblance of a smile.
Jaw clenched to stifle
Banshee's wail of despair.

There they were.
Expectant faces,
ruddy of cheek,
sparkling of eye,
overdone of tan, false lashes and sequin.
A clag of a multitude of sickly scent
invaded space.
The whole thing stank.

A shudder,
as gathered mob
raised voices and glasses.
"Happy Birthday!"

"Cat's Night Patrol" (Entry 302)

Darkness drapes her sharp shoulders,
only to be lifted by spotlit circles from overhead lamps.
These pavements, her stage.
The cold seeps through cushioned pads
hardened by time and life.
She take in her circuit,
her territory,
to notice new invading sights and
telling scents of unknown beings,
friend or foe.

The wind lifts,
sending a torrent of leaves to
tear from the branches and
swoop, as seagulls, around her.
With the gust, a cry is carried.
She flinches to a pause.
To hold as still as unmossed stone,
as silent and unmoved as
that lonely naked rock.
Eyes widen,
pinpointing any scuttle or scamper.
Ears rotate,
senses performing better than
any radar.

All is fine.
All is quiet.
As it should be.
Satisfied, she turns,
jumps the wooden fence
at the spot she knows
is easiest.
Across damp lawn to
enter through her own private door.

She shakes the night from her fur to
curl up,
content in the knowledge that
her solitary streets stay safe.

"For Want of a Cat" (Entry 241)

The flea bit on the rat within the grime,
Many existed after the Burning Times.

Executed witches and their familiars, just pets.
The cats were killed, which now they regret.

So out into the world, the rodent ran
from flea to rat to ravaged man.

And on and on and on.

The Black Death scampered,
humanity's growth almost hampered.

And on and on and on.

Death became them, almost all,
this could have been civilisations fall.

For it all started with a flea on rat.
So on they cried, for want of a cat.

"A Kitty without a Key" (Entry 176)

The manky grey moggy
sits and waits each day,
on the front porch, to see with
eyes like emblazoned LED torches,
for someone to feed him,
to love him still.
This forgotten kitty
so eager yet.

"Nap" (Entry 118)

Dip into tap. Time to take a nap.
The cat lapped at the sap of life.
Nip at the cap to rap on this 'n' that.
Ain't it fab?

"Midnight" (Entry 109)

She scooped up the ball of fluff.
Warm pink paws stretched to show mini claws.
Matching tongue stuck out in dozy yawn as the kitten woke.
Bright inquisitive citrine eyes scanned over her face,
taking in her new owner's features,
as recognition of fun times and fierce companionship was born.
A jolt of future echoed through both of them.
Joined together in the moment.
Cat shelter manager enquired on her new name.
She watched the cat nibble her fingers and rub its head against her palm.
The fur unmarked, a dark pool of black calm.
Hints of blue seems to sparkle as the sun shone upon.
A black so deep you want to dive, to fall into,
to plunge further and further into the Universe.
"The colour of Midnight,"she murmured. "Midnight."

"The Innocence Sleep" (Entry 107)

There's no difference between
a sleeping child or kitten.
Breath calm and light,
snuffles of warm delight.
Eyelids flicker as lashes bat away the day.
Legs aquiver as in dreams, they play.
Creating their energy score
for their next adventures and more.
In that breath so calm and light,
warm and cozy in the night.

"That Sinking Feline" (Entry 56)

Feline filled the sink like a furry bean bag.
Curled up, visage veiled beneath the tail.
Shock of warm ginger stripe against ceramic bright tooth white.

Door opens, light pulls on.
Cat raises a sleepy head,
blinks olive marbled eyes
and jaws a yawn to show python fangs.

He stretches and ambles to perch on the edge,
ease of balance that would put a tight rope walker to shame.
He miaows in demanding tones,
and eyes the tap and empty sink.
"Fill it up. I want a drink!"

"Feline Fantasy" (Entry 48)

paws quiver... whiskers tremble...
tiny mewing... fantasy assemble.
Where does he go? When he dreams.
Furry kitten... more than he seems.