A poem about how a black cat grew up in our superstitious world |
At first, the black cat was but a little ball of fur, Ignorant of how cruel some humans were. Merely had she opened her eyes and ears, To the sights and sounds that the world had to show, When a human came,brandishing a stick, And mother decided that it was time to go. She picked up her only kitten and left to search for a new home, One that would shelter them from rain and storm. She finally settled in a small empty basement, That was well lit airy, cozy and warm. And there the black cat grew, playing with her mother, For she had neither sister nor brother. Soon her mother brought her rats to eat, And she began to grow healthily. She began to hunt with her mother soon, just as quietly and stealthily. Then the time came for daughter and mother to part, And the black cats independent life got off to a good start. Whenever she crossed a superstitious human's path, She would incur that persons wrath. They would throw stones at her and shoo her away She had to go through this almost everyday One hot day after being stoned and shooed, She realized that she was being pursued. A pack of dogs were hot on her heels, She ran for her life avoiding being a mid-day meal. She was sure that she would be captured, But that was when I came into the picture. I opened the door on hearing the sounds And let the cat inside but not the hounds. From then on the black cat has been living with me and she has been anything but unlucky. |