For Phelicity, when she was a baby

    Dazzley Blue

    The baby blues she turns on me,
    Reminding that it's time to play,
    Exciteable Phelicity
    Has been asleep enough today,
    A catnip sock to chew
    And eyes of dazzley blue.

    The fluffy coat of silken down
    For stroking, bushing, beckons me
    To rearrange the formal gown
    Of beautiful Phelicity,
    When diamonds are her due,
    And eyes of dazzley blue.

    The swishy tail that teases me
    Across my busy hands again,
    The playful imp Phelicity
    Destroys my concentration when
    She's playing peek-a-boo,
    And eyes of dazzley blue.

    The wistful sniffing velvet nose
    At dinner plates I made for me
    Divides the vegies that I chose
    And chicken for Phelicity,
    Who thanks me with a mew
    And eyes of dazzley blue.

    The snuggley, small, insistent form
    That nestles nightly at my knee
    Is under covers where it's warm,
    Reserved for just Phelicity,
    Where dark is purring, too,
    And eyes of dazzley blue.

    How small she was the day we met,
    She gave her love and trust to me
    In baby ways we don't forget.
    I give it back, Phelicity,
    More precious than I knew,
    Your eyes of dazzley blue.

    1992

Of more recent vintage for Mewsette

    Did Her Majesty Have a Bad Day?

    She sulks, she pouts,
    Demanding her privileged ins and outs,
    Then hiss, then spit,
    Your company sat where she wants to sit.
    She cries, she howls,
    She batters the door with her paws and yowls,
    She stomps the halls,
    She takes off the roof with her caterwauls.
    She sobs, she wails,
    Providing your ears with the sad details.

    Now would you curse
    Her Majesty, Queen of the Universe?
    Or should you groan
    And do as she bids to keep peace - your own?

    Come here, my love.
    Whatever it is we can rise above.

    And when she comes,
    To march to the beat of the Feline drums,
    Or when she begs,
    By prettily winding around your legs,
    She is Pure Cat,
    No more of a cat in the world than that.
    And when she purrs,
    There isn't a purr in the world like hers.
    And then she'll mew,
    Bestowing a wet little kiss on you.
    No pain, no fuss,
    It's only a day in the life of us.


    And my most recent poem for our oldest resident:

    The Seventeenth Year of BamBam

    They've arrived, old girl,
    The years of serene and sedate
    Punctuated by impolite elderly noises -
    It must have been something you ate.

    And you, who worship food, visit your bowl
    just as frequently these days, and hesitate -
    I hear a small sigh -
    trying to remember if you just ate or not.
    For you, who sleeps circular, take longer naps,
    stretching out several these days all together
    into one long sleep -
    sometimes sleeping right through mealtime.
    But you will awaken
    and stretch your stiff old legs,
    and let us know you didn't mean to.
    You are still grumpy.

    This is it, old girl,
    Your season of rest and repose
    Interrupted by nearsighted leisurely journeys
    To me, as you follow your nose.

    And you, who bore twenty children in your youth,
    always thought of yourself as a person,
    so first, in people years,
    you were older than my children.
    Then you got older than me.
    Now, at "84", you are older than my mother.
    Your nose has age spots
    and your eyes have speckles
    and your dear face has a long, drawn look -
    But you have retained
    your furry full figure,
    even if the fur did turn gray.
    You are still healthy.

    Just enjoy, old girl,
    Whenever, whatever you please,
    Demonstrated by touchingly quizzical glances-
    Feel no guilt simply taking your ease.

    And you, who made a career of being assertive,
    ignore whatever turmoil is around you,
    but sometimes you think of something
    you forgot to tell me -
    and you meow at me several times
    and I meow back -
    and when you're satisfied I got it right,
    you nod off again.

    Even you, who raised destruction to a fine art,
    haven't moved around enough
    to knock anything over for years.
    If getting up on the sofa
    is more trouble than it's worth,
    you reconsider your options
    and plunk down right where you are.
    It's still, as always, in a doorway.
    You are still you.

    It's a wrap, old girl,
    You've no further reason to roam.
    Uncorrupted by youth, our house is becoming
    A kitty retirement home.

 


    Oh, may they live forever, please,
    Keepers of both my heart and soul,
    Holders of scepter, wand and keys-
    Hail to the Queens who make life whole.






This is the beautiful Award The Queens and I received from The Meditative Cat. The kitty on the award looks very much like BamBam when she was young. Thank you, CatAnna and Monday!



    Thank you for visiting our site! "The Queens and I" was the beginning of the website that became Sharon's Catique. Please come to visit. You'll find many photo pages of the girls there.


You may pay homage or send meows to any or all of the Queens right here Just delete the x.

~^..^~


UPDATE! Now there is a sequel to The Queens and I, called The Queens and Others, Volume Two.


I have several other poetry sites as well. Please come and visit Old Composures and Stone Holler Poems and Provelies.

 




Note in 2005: Sometime when I wasn't looking, our website passed 500 pages. I have no idea what they all are, where some of them are, or what's linked to what any more. I know, pitiful. There are pages in here I don't even know are in here. Not to mention what my girls do now when I'm sleeping. If you're traveling around and find something interesting, do write to me. I probably lost it.

©1999 by Sharon Goodman. All rights reserved.