Every year about this time
Problems with cats become sublime.
It must be something about spring
When they are free to do their thing.
No longer are they stuck inside.
They are coaxed outside to roam wide.
Their owners must tire of their stink.
I KNOW I would; I don’t just THINK.
My nose can smell a “catty” house,
Pungent urine, worse than dead mouse.
Why do cats love my groomed back yard?
Why is it such a drawing card?
Some cats chewed my water plants.
(I wish they would eat slugs or ants).
It makes me mad; they leave their skat.
There’s one new cat that’s a real brat.
It’s huge and mean with long gray fur.
Nothing I try seems to deter
His scratching in my herb garden
And that I refuse to pardon.
He thinks my water spray’s a farce,
Isn’t scared off by a wet arse.
While stalking near my writing shack,
He eyes my birdbath out the back,
Hides in my cedars near the fence.
(Nesting robins have no cat sense.)
To cat lovers who read this poem,
Please keep your dear pussies at home.
Feed them well so they won’t stalk birds,
Give them a box; collect their turds.
Don’t let them out to scout about.
Fatten them up; make them real stout
So they won’t want to chase my trout.
(My bonker has a deadly clout.)
My Koi fish are my precious pets;
Their bills are so high from the vets.
My water pistol gives a scare.
One good squirt up into the air.
I just want cats to
BEWARE:
Don’t kill my birds.
Don’t even dare.
