Midnight at the Oasis

 

These days I live with three cats
or perhaps three cats live with me
if I go out they are not pleased

I am not in any way a cat person
they think of me the fourth feline
something warm to lie upon

to open a door at their leisure
making sure the fire is going
shade and water at temperature

‘Gustav’ black and white lost an incisor
and like a one hole paper puncher
surly with affection bites any doter

‘Ada’ a DSH called ‘Bloat’ is on a diet
and is not amused by the prospect
of eight more lives lived in svelte quiet

then there is the newest rescue
saved from a big square bale death
all whiffy fluff out of the Serengeti

‘Betty’ also known as ‘Feralina’
came as a pipe cleaner with a head
and morphed into L’orange Terroire

I am not in any way a cat person
they pull my hand out of the doona
just to get me up in the morning

my place I’m beginning to know
the over worked but trusted palace eunuch
who thinks he’s in charge of the Seraglio.

 

 

Unpublished poem from the Hubgarden, 2016.
Art: Boulanger ‘Harem du Palais’.