Cat Pan Contemplation
John I. Blair
I host three cats,
Three kibble consumers,
Three fractious felines
With functioning digestive tracts
Who nibble daily a pound of food
And process poo.
In a smelly room beside my office
A cat pan molders,
A round-the-clock parading ground
Where they squat, strain,
Then scratch and cover Ė
So the theory goes.
But pussy practice is not perfect
Because, for one thing, cats have moods,
Cats donít like to soil their feet,
Sometimes yank whatís near the pan
Into it: paper, whisk broom, rug;
Sometimes they just canít be bothered.
I pull cleanup thrice a day;
Tools at hand (a brush, a scoop,
A weary string of epithets)
Down I hunker, half smothered,
And filter out the fragrant poop.
The moral here: between naps
What a cat eats, a cat craps.
©2007 John I. Blair
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