The Legend of Sir Galacat

Sir Galacat a legend was.

He left his happy home because
He liked to travel far and wide,
So out into the countryside
He disappeared for seven days.
His person searched in many ways,
And he was sorely missed until
He came back home, as legends will,
And he had lost at least a pound,
He wasn't firm, he wasn't round.
He rested for a while and ate
But never gained his former weight.

The days were getting shorter when
His flight of fancy struck again,
And over hill and dale he loped.
His person waited, called and hoped,
And gave him up for good and yet
He came back home, a thinner pet.
He'd lost another pound or two,
And skin and bones were all he grew.
It seemed he might have stayed that time,
But wanderlust was in its prime,
Horizons beckoned him once more
And drew him from his good home's door.

The search was frantic, high and low,
For no one knew where he might go.
He came back home by dark of night
But wasn't seen until the light,
And lay upon a window shelf,
A shadow of his former self,
For he had lost of flesh so much
He barely was a wisp to touch,
And one could study hard the spot
To see if he was there or not.

Then once again he disappeared
So long, this time his person feared
His cat would nevermore return,
And in his anguish and concern
For hours every night he cried
And didn't stop until he died.

Sir Galacat a legend is
Because the home no longer his
Is said to have a ghost, and that
It's probably Sir Galacat.

It's True What They Say About Dixie



Lest you make the assumption That Dixie means South again, Not really, (forgive my gumption) No, she was my speckled hen. Now Dixie was always trying To come and go as she pleased, So once she'd taken up flying, Each chance to escape was seized. Come Spring and no Dixie, I feared She'd flown away just for kicks, Till the evening she reappeared With a family of thirteen chicks From under the house, where hidden For weeks, she'd been laying low, And following her as bidden, Thirteen chicks in a row. In a few more weeks they'd grown All noisy and bright and excited, And Dixie was never alone, For which she wasn't delighted. But every time I went near, Quick as a hen can cackle, Her motherly duties clear, Dixie flew up to tackle. Knowing I might feel bad, But sure that I didn't need, On the tiny income I had, Thirteen little beaks to feed, I sold the chicks, all thirteen. And Dixie fluttered and squawked And escaped again, to be seen Not flying away. She walked.

A Little Wild Cattale


There once was a cat named Cerebra
With stripier stripes than a zebra.
They say she was born a Libra,
So graceful and fine was Cerebra.

Then there was a cat called Caleta
With spottier spots than a cheetah.
They say you never would meet a
Friendlier cat than Caleta.

A third cat was christened Samantha,
Who was sleek and as black as a pantha.
They say he left home in a slam
For they should have addressed him as Sam.

They were all of a common religion;
Their likes and dislikes were the same,
From a rooftop while chasing a pigeon
To the sidewalks in some sunny game,

To the fence where they sang Solo Mio
In harmony sweet as plum jam,
The closest of friends were the trio,
Cerebra, Caleta and Sam.

One day the three met up with Minx,
Who was tufted and buff as a lynx.
They say that's what started the jinx,
For a real troublemaker was Minx.

Cerebra said Minx was a female
But Sam swore it must be a he,
And Caleta thought nobody'd be male
But Sam, and they couldn't agree.

Then Caleta said Minx was included,
And Sam replied certainly not.
Cerebra was feeling deluded,
Their friendship was going to pot.

The Minx said the others were stingy,
And that chasing the pigeon was funny,
And made every rooftop seem dingy.
The sidewalks were not even sunny.

It came to a head pretty early,
When, there on the fence with the three
Sat Minx, with a look that was surly
And sang Solo Mio off-key.

Well, the folks who had been serenaded
Took vengeance and aim with a shoe,
Knocking Sam, as he sang and paraded,
To the ground with his legs all askew.

Cerebra cried, We didn't need a
Quartet for our singing, Caleta!
And woe to the cat who deprives
Our Sam of just one of his lives!

The fury has never been matched
With which the odd cat was dispatched,
And the Minx disappeared like a wimp,
But Sam has a permanent limp.

When you hear by the light of the moon
(At the end of the story I am)
Solo Mio in perfect tune,
It's Cerebra, Caleta and Sam.



---

Pepe's Pride

Pepe and Petunia were purebred miniature Le Fluer Old English Game banties. I'm adding their story at my daughter's request, because she loves it. It's a true story.

Pepe Le Plume was an ounce of fluff
Who came from a champion line
To a rude little house just large enough
For shelter and to confine,
And there he grew through summer and fall
To a well-behaved little gent,
A miniature rooster one hand tall
With a champion's proud content.
All brightly colored his princely cape
On a breast of dappled gray
Decorated his perfect shape
And shone in the light of day.
He loved Petunia, his tiny mate,
In her plain little silver dress,
And sent her in when the hour grew late
To protect her from distress.
But while she slept in the hay at night,
He dozed on a roost outside
Keeping watch till the morning light
In perky, vigilant pride.

And there he stayed when the winter came
And the ice was on the land,
With the bitter wind blowing more untame
Than a tiny bird could stand.
Petunia watched him from under her roof
As sleet blew over the yard
But, on frozen feet, Pepe stood aloof
And would not give up his guard.
For three long nights in the cruelest storm
There had been for many a year,
Pepe refused to seek the warm
Of the shelter that was near.
Too proud and noble to go inside,
And at last too weak to move,
The morn of the fourth day, Pepe died,
His love and duty to prove.
Petunia sits on the roost alone,
With sad little eyes held fast
To the new brown earth and the tiny stone
Where he rests in peace at last.

Copyright © 2000 by Sharon Goodman