Saturday, January 14, 2017

Q.C.Humor #14: A Friend Looks at His 'Seer’s Cat-a-Log


Our Catnapper

Underbelly slurps juice from
Our empty crab can, lickety-split

Leisurely indulges in a paw n’ chops rinse
Then his forward paw,
Stretches to the feline limit--

Floodlighted by morning shine--
Contorts to nap my socked foot;

Lazing man-napper.

And me, his waiter and footman

--Daniel Wilcox

Cataclysmic—when other neighborhood cats come near your god’s food bowl

Catalyst--when your cat orders you to perform a list of actions, "without itself undergoing any permanent change"

Catastrophe—the result of leaving your cat alone in the house all day

Hunts Ketchup or catsup--what you try to do when your cat goes where he’s not supposed to and knocks Heinz off the pantry shelf

Catapults--watch out for cat a pulls.

Caterwaul—a cat’s wail when he runs into your house wall, escaping from the neighbor's pit bull

Catawampus—when your cat makes short work of the newly hung colorful bulbs and lights on your Christmas tree
or the new tissue paper on the roll in the bathroom

Catechist--your cat as teacher of how you must behave and serve him

cathexis--"defined as the investment of mental or emotional energy in" your cat

What is a series of cats in a row waiting to receive their due?


The Cat’s Scientist

Scratch, scratch, scratch;
Open the cubical.

I patter past his carbon-based legs,
Rushing, meowing all the way to my feeder
Already full, waiting to be lapped and crunched.

But I’m the droided prince of cats so I
Reverse, nose and chin his cyrexed shins,
Meow into his lowered hand;
Impatiently prowl around his space boots
Until he stumbles and almost falls.

Finally he sapiens up,
Grabs the half-empty receptacle
From the immaculate shelf,

Shakes it noisily in my puss’d face,
Then pretends to dump more pastel fare
Into my tempting container;

Smirking, I swiftly gobble it up
As if it was the last bowl on Mars.

What did he mumble about Pavlov?

Daniel Wilcox

First pub. in Abandoned Towers Magazine

And from Steven Wright,
“… a dog thinks he's a human…a cat wouldn't stoop that low."


‘Herd’ of cats who—“

No way!
In a cat dictionary, what is 12 in number?”

‘Dozen’ cats napping

Clammy Chops

I scooped in one huge mouthful of savory chowder
Swimming with succulent salmon on a reconnoiter

Wild from Alaska—my taste buds buzzed into singing,
But the stupid phone in the kitchen rang, yanking.

I dropped my creamy spoon and rushed through the open door--
Wrong number! Frustrated, I slammed down the white ringer,

Tended to nagging errands clanging for attention;
But then heard a loud slurp...slurping 'round the den corner.

Oh, no! I rushed back into the aromatic room of the computer
And there crouched Fizzy, our calico, her cream-rootbeer

Mugged head raised pleased, above the scent-wafted white saucer,
Just ‘fin-ished’--her pink tongue wiping those smiling choppers.

--Daniel Wilcox

First pub. at vox poetica

In the Light-hearted Life of Best Pet Friends,

Daniel Wilcox

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