Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as a sky night

With one white mitten,

Was up yesterday morning

And saw the waxing gibbous moon. 


The moon – of course – affects Paw,

As it does all the animals

(Including us).


But Paw,

A persnickety little bugger 

At the best of times,

Seems to take umbrage

With the moon,

Or 

At the moon,

When it grows (and glows)

To its full height and size.


Paw,

Being a cat,

Does not howl at the moon,

But he spits,

And hisses,

And growls,

And goes “Itititititititit”,

And makes himself quite a nuisance.

He will get the crazies,

And dash back and forth

From window, to door,

To window.


I’d let him out (I swear, just to be quit of him),

But I have no guarantee

– None at all –

That he would come back,

And I’d miss the little bugger.

[That’s the truth]


I bundle him firmly

(So I won’t get lacerated),

And carry him up 

To the lantern room

At the top of the lighthouse.

I let him loose.


I’ll find him in the morning,

Finally asleep, 

But still, occasionally,

Muttering “Itititititititit” to himself,

While he dreams. 

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2026 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}