2352. Meow

Juanita had a special gift: she could understand a cat’s meowing. Many people think that the meowing of a cat is simply that. But Juanita knew better.

She had three cats and they were all catered for to perfection. She wouldn’t talk through meows to a cat itself but she could understand what the cat was saying in its meowing. Sometimes, for example, it might be “I have a sore foot”, or “I have a tummy ache,” or even “You should know by now that I don’t like salmon out of a tin”.

What a wonderful gift! Juanita’s reputation grew. Even the local animal vet sometimes called on her if a cat that needed attending to in one way or another was proving difficult to diagnose. “He has an allergy to artificial flavouring in the beef and liver cat food.” “She is stressed out by the neighbour’s dog.” “My cushion stinks.”

Juanita had a friend who had a cat and the cat was doing poorly. It wouldn’t eat. Perhaps Juanita could help? The solution was simple. The friend’s cat explained in no uncertain terms:  “I’m not a fussy eater; I just like variety”.

At one time a heart-warming revelation occurred. Juanita was watching the evening news on television when Estelle announced: “I have happy news! I am expecting five kittens!” What a happy day! Oh! But what a sad day it was when Juanita had to take the five kittens to the pet shop to be sold. “You have broken my heart,” said Estelle. “I shall never speak to you again.”

All the other cats joined in the boycott. And that possibly accounts for why these days cats will often appear aloof and haughty. No! They do not think of themselves as superior; they are simply taking a stand. There’s more to a meow than meets the eye. Juanita will tell you that every meow from every cat these days simply says, politely of course, “My lips are sealed.”

Poem 93: Yet another poem about a dead cat

My cat woke me at four each morning.
She would jump on the bed and claw the pillow
right next to my eyes.
I would wake, fearful for my sight.
Would I never again see the day slip over the hill?
Would I never again see the moon slip over the hill
or the barley field wave in the wind?
Perhaps by patting the cat I could doze a little longer.
Bloody cat.

Fourteen years ago,
on a night I could not sleep,
I rose from bed at four and fed the cat.
Breakfast at four became her rite, her right.
Bloody cat.

Last year she was sick.
The veterinarian said
“That’ll be one hundred and thirty dollars please.”
I gave up wine and stuff for a month to pay for it.
That bloody cat was more of a nuisance than I ever imagined.

Last week she died.
If she came back I’d let her scratch out my eyes.

To hear the poem read click HERE!

703. Clarinda’s feline fixation

Clarinda’s dream came true. She had always loved animals, especially cats. Now, after several applications, she got a job working at the SPCA.

Thank goodness she had. They were short staffed. They were suddenly inundated with stray cats. Clarinda’s day was a joy! Cats of every shape and size and colour and personality!

Three or four stray cats came in every day. In fact, the SPCA’s cat intake matched exactly the number of reported missing cats.

Clarinda was busy, busy, busy. “Here Puss Puss Puss Puss!” called Clarinda in the evenings as she walked the streets of her neighbourhood.

Listen the story being read HERE!