One of the highlights of my 14 years living on a mountainside reclusive from the world, was my neighbors. Mountain people are a little strange, and my neighbors, good people who worked hard on their garden and in their lives, were at times quite inspiring. This poem is the result of visiting them over a glass of wine and they telling me the story of their bathing their cat, Inky. I have a few more poems from being around them I’ll add in time. This is for you, Christine and Rick, you weirdos.
That cat came in a mess of stink,
Though his coat be black as ink,
Dust and dirt had covered up,
What was the beauty of his cup!
So it was out of love and care,
The kitty caught, soon would bear,
The terror of the waters rush,
Encaged within a shower and tub.
Clean the cat was the ideal.
But puss found no appeal.
For screaming from his kitty voice,
He begged to have another choice!
But larger mammals held their ground,
Watching puss go ‘round and ‘round.
Until they felt the time had come,
To once again let “Inky” run.
Who later came to sit and rest,
Again at peace and content,
Forgiving of his purging past,
He sat beside his human’s laps.
And purring as he Salmon ate,
Considered not the human debate,
Of whether another time they’d enact,
The showering of the kitty-cat.
© 2003 by Vickie L. Sumner