RUNDELANIA

by E.V. Wyler

Beside our garden’s scalloped fence,
where English Ivy’s vines are dense,
we viewed an unexpected sight;
a mini tiger, gold and white!

This morning’s new, bewildered guest,
abandoned here and quite distressed,
kept yowling panic-stricken sounds,
surveying unfamiliar grounds.

“Investigate!” demanded they
who’ve never had to hunt for prey
(because inside, our “Cat Café”
provides a well-supplied buffet).

I warmed some chicken casserole
with peas inside a shallow bowl
since meat aromas volunteer
that hungry strays are welcome here …

Upon approach, I realized
fear rendered kitty paralyzed.
The cat’s dilated pupils’ size,
almost erasing hazel eyes,
and lowered ears and trembling back  
implored, “I’m frightened! Don’t attack!”
 
To demonstrate I meant no harm,
before extending either arm
I slowly blinked and drooped my eyes,
a standard gesture which implies
a peaceful, friendly attitude
I reinforced with gifts of food
whose appetizing smell conveyed,
“Come eat!  No need to feel afraid!”

“Meow!” the pleading pauper spoke;
appearing cute, his masterstroke.
And, yes, the large repast supplied
soon cast instinctive fears aside:
Within a flash, I saw him dash
towards my culinary cache.
Uninterrupted, kitty fed,
his rhythmic chewing bobbed his head.

As kitty’s inhibitions waned,
his faith and trust I quickly gained.
The pussycat began to purr,
permitting me to pet his fur!
Beside the kitten’s ringlet tail
were pelvic bones, pronounced and frail.
The stray’s emaciated frame
divulged starvation bears the blame.

His tongue (an agile, swift machine),
had licked the bowl completely clean.
Demanding yet another treat,
he placed his paws beneath my feet
to sabotage my planned retreat.
Conceding absolute defeat,
I led this cat towards our house
secured by one awaiting spouse …

“Oh, no!  You don’t!” My husband roared.
“We have enough!” He underscored.

But, unaware of being snubbed,
against our calves this kitten rubbed
and slowly rubbed again before
he dropped and rolled around the floor,
exposing folded-over paws
the snowy-white my spouse adores!

I’m sure by now you can foresee
the guilty party (namely me)
appears devoid of any shame;
instead, I’ll simply just proclaim,
“A tiny tabby, forced to roam,
arrived today ... and found his home.”






E. V. "Beth" Wyler is a Klutz.  When she's not being patched up with stitches, staples, and Band-Aids, E. V.'s permitted to play with words because she's not bright enough to play with numbers.  E. V. 's beloved meezers, Delia & Ophelia, are her editors-in-chief, either snuggling beside her or dive-bombing the keyboard.  Delia, Ophelia, and E. V. thank you for reading E. V. 's writings and rantings.