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Ghuey relished rolling
in the dirt. It didn't matter if it was bark dust sand near the curb or dust in the parking lot he was going to claim it Ghuey liked to play with moths dance a pas de deux with them leaping, tour jetes high into the air only to accidentally land on their fragile bodies to tear their wings he couldn't understand that he might end its fragile life... something he found so captivating and beautiful. I know he never meant to hurt anything... the moth, a bird, a squirrel. Usually he'd just stare. After the moth, he meowed loudly to himself gazing around in profound amazement.. what happened to my little friend? He'd tap the moth gently and then look up at me go back to the moth and repeat this action over and over again until dejected at last he'd hang his head, scratch behind his ears and jaw as if to say what did I do what happened sometimes searching endlessly long after the moth had been taken away. sweet boy a gentle soul... yet he stood his ground when neighbor's dogs charged and blipped him headlong into the air once Ghuey did a complete 360 turn mid-air and landed facing the Rottweiler sizing her up for battle and then swiping her the entire length of her nose. the wounded Rott skedaddled, her cover blown, yelping as she hurled headlong across the street. the Rot's owner admitted "she deserved that." and never said another word. Her "Princess" had been a cat-chaser all her life...Ghuey was the first cat to stand up to her. All I could do was laugh and grin. that cat oh our cat...what a boy he is and then he'd pad off to his favoreite spot where he'd plop down unceremoniously staring out at his world from under the largest tree on the lot measuring himself and coming up self-satisfied. yeah, Dog...just you come see about me and then he shnuffled, snoozed and snored sonorously... He'd earned his nap... The Wonder Cat indeed-indeed! LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 12:57 PM PACIFIC TIME AND ALSO FOR THIS POET/WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE.... MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD, WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE. Vote for this poem |
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