The Legendary Schizophrenic Cat

– Robert Temple

Nine lives, they say.
Oh, yeah, nine lives.
But they don’t know
the half of it.
As if those lives come one by one.
As if we die nine times and then are done
…to be wholly dead.
to be completely dead.
….to be The Holy Dead.

We watch the people come and go
reveal the itsy bitsy that they know.
Dumb ones, anyway. No sense of smell.
What’s good or bad, they have no way to tell.
If on four feet they say they crawl.
And if perchance they stumble once and fall
They have no sense of ‘down’ at all.
Oh, go ahead, complain about your folk
Who work so hard to feed you; make them a joke.
I however will sit here, ensconced
Upon my cushion, will not share your Angst.
For I believe this world has great design–
With so much care for me–obviously mine.
And mine as well, see high within that tree
that careless, chirping, charming chickadee:
as soon as I have lapped my milk, and chewed my beef,
I’ll climb that tree to hide between a twig and leaf
to take that creature as my just desserts.
Oh, how advance in civil form so fast reverts.
I shall henceforth be silent, smiling, calm.
My simple silence herein is a balm.
My silence only indicates a plan
goes on to supersede the craven species: man.
And I shall count the moments of my fame
I’ll contemplate my secret name.

They’re putting food upon the table now.
Stupid hunks of vegetable,
Mmmmm! Dead cow.
All I need to get some is meow, meow.
They ‘re welcome to a share. I gaze
Upon this laden table, where they graze.
Soon enough the choicest, chewiest bits
Will land by me, or by my wits
I will entice someone to sneak
a meal down here all tongue in cheek.
Oh, what phrenetic lives we lead:
Nine cats: one true, celestial breed.
Within one body, quite insane
If we were human — so inane.
I never get my fair-share space
We all are crowded in one place
Let me be she who gives us grace.