Cats are drawn to writers, musicians, actors, comics–the Arts … all!
Look at them scurrying through penned scripts, enthralled
As if they can read each tiny scribble and revise the news
With their critiques, opinions, comments, views.
How fortunate we are to have cats to advise!
Playing strings or striking keys with tiny paws and claws.
If you listen closely you’ll hear them sing, letting their voices ring.
But when you enter the room to see them perform,
The cat looks at you questioning why, suddenly becoming shy.
That’s when the little artist has the desire to roam.
The consummate actor, the mime, the showoff, creating havoc and drama.
Cats play any scene, mimic our schemes, offering up chaos and trauma.
Then the role changes, rearranges, and the kitty becomes the clown.
We giggle and laugh as they run all around,
Dancing and prancing, looking at us upside down.
Their tirade complete, they fall asleep, finding a great hiding place,
A box, a bag, a space too small, fit for only a contortionist.
If they want to be found, we’ll see their sweet faces;
If not, they just disappear, the perfect illusionist.
And of course, with cats all; they never come when you call.
We end our poem with our sleeping friend
Who’s obviously read every word to the end.