When Cat is Queen

Daily Note

Every day, a photograph, a poem. The wild tabby cat dares me to sit back down, one paw out, ready to swat. She’s still pretty wild, though she loves us now and lets us pet her. Still, I don’t trust that paw— the one sticking out, read to swat at anyone who bothers her when she doesn’t want to be bothered.

I had refilled my water and returned to find the cat in my spot. The Queen. The Boss. I tried to throw a crinkly paper so she’d attack it. I tried her favorite: a hair band, wiggling and throwing it. I tried a jingle ball, rolling it across the room and out of sight. None of the usual tricks fooled her. She was bound and determined to stay in my spot.

Scott picked her up, carefully, as she hissed at him with ears back. He tried to place her in the cushioned console between us, calming her with his voice, petting her as she objected, but she would have nothing to do with it, and just hopped off, plopping herself down on the wooden floor, tail flicking, and, I’m sure, cursing under her breath.

She is the Queen and this is a daily adventure, although she doesn’t usually take my spot. Usually she lays behind me across the cushion or on Scott’s lap.

And so a statement poem….

Poetry

When Your Cat is Queen

When you get up
to refill your water glass
and return to your art work,
the cat is in your seat—
the wild cat
whose eyes say
“It’s my spot now”—
with one paw out,
ready
to
swat.
Sheri Edwards
07.02.23 184.365.23
Poetry/Photography [See-Frame-Focus]