 The New Yorker Cover Kahlua doesn't sleep with me... I'm a punching bag it's plain to see, a feeder, a litter box cleaner, a go for the cans, of pussycat delectable treats from envelopes... and overpriced choice nibbles from metal cans. Kahlua is a phantom, a will of the wisp... meows and calls me to set up her tray... if I try to play with her lovingly she runs away, if I shake the bag of cat tidbits she might stay... I'm a victim, a loser, ignored the rest of the day. She knows my habits, my every move, demands attention, never listens to me, I'm a prisoner, a serf, a server, a nuisance, a slave... the lowest of creatures, ignored and despised, out to disrupt her, a teller of falsehood and lies... The New York Cover should be rapidly discarded, it should be burnt, thrown in the trash can with garbage, never looked at; this feline is a menace, a viper, a snapper, vain feline, a Moggy... in my mind a tortoiseshell menace out with the tide. (Written with Tongue-in-cheek!) Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York - 17th January, 2006. |
