Lessons From A Young Feline (Poem)

I yell full sentences filled with illustrative threats exuding smoldering animosity.

Over and over he does what I tell him not to do.

I watch as he stares longingly at the untouchable object as if it holds some magical spell over him with its inanimate power.

His full, rounded body tenses with desire pulsing along the lines of his insides breeding through to the outside.

“No!” I yell, and grab for the spray bottle.

But He is unfazed. Doused and swarming with running particles, he continues his quest to get on my very nerves.

“No!” I cry again, barely holding back expletives while even shooting an angry hand out before I can even think of what is happening with my body; before I can tell it to stop

He is confined for hours once again, thrown into the abyss of my home office which also serves as his “room”

His cries of desire dipped inside a childish, yet heartfelt pain seep through the closed office/cat-house door and travel an invisible pathway toward my heart, but I halt each one at the threshold

Again, we try later on to coexist, but it seems he only wants the things he is not supposed to have, and ignores those inconspicuous toys I purchased, which are actually allowed to be tossed to and fro.

Seems to me like there is a lesson here.

Hmmm…When do we do that?: focus on the very thing we cannot have?

When do I?

Endlessly I am yelling, he is running, I am frustrated.

His innate nature is the opposite of peace and relaxation; his very claws defying them both.

Yet no matter our arguments, he shakes whatever hurt feelings a house cat is allowed to have, then draws back to me after the chastising, after the imprisonment in his kitty-cell for however long it has taken me to calm down.

He searches his way into my lap where he is now settled, and nestles a place beneath the blanket, purring religiously.

Rest captures him; wraps her swollen arms gently over each furry black strand until he is wistfully asleep.

I gaze down in adoration, my heart now a tender beat against the soft, endearing touch of his fur…just in time for us to repeat the same shenanigans.

All over.


In the morning.


By Nicole D. Miller

Nicole D. Miller is an author and heartfelt writer, as expressed on her blog Better Than Wine. Her books are published at nicoledmiller.com and on Amazon. She loves all things “old school” hip-hop and R&B, along with any outfit that involves cute boots and thick scarves. She even manages to run her own bookkeeping business (www.abnbookkeepingllc.com) when she’s not cuddling her cute cat she fondly calls, “Squeaks”.

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