Search

kafkaestblog

It is a whirlwind in here

Open Search
Category

cats

The Blood Moon Engulfs Partridge Island

The moon didn’t disappear,

Tonight,

Because of the total eclipse.

It bathed Partridge Island

In blood,

As it turned dark.

There was no way to convince

Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as an eclipse

With one white mitten,

That it wasn’t dripping blood.

He spat

He howled

He bared his teeth

And claws

He paced

He sometimes cowered

(I swear from exhaustion, as

the bloody thing went on

and on).

I finally threw a towel

Over him,

And tucked him

Into a closet.

Closed the door,

And talked to him.

(I confess, using baby talk),

’till the blood stopped.

It exhausted me, too.

And, when the moon shone full,

I let Paw out, and took him

For a walk outside.

If cats could howl at the moon

That is what he would have done.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

0

A Valentine’s Day Feast Awaits Sister Darling On Partridge Island

Sister Darling, of

The Rarified Church of the World (reformed),

Steps upon the dock of the Partridge Island Lighthouse.

My humble self (the Lighthouse keeper) awaits her,

As does Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as Liquorice candy

With one white mitten.

I pondered tying a red riband

Around his neck, in celebration

Of the day.

But our cat/kitten is not as young

As he used to be,

And took umbrage at my attempt.

Still, he is young enough

– And spry enough –

And has memories enough,

To jump upon Sister Darling’s shoulder

And nestle in her hair.

And thus, we three climbed our way

To my Lighthouse Keepers house.

I have prepared a most wonderous fish stew,

Bubbling on the hob

(It even has lobster),

And, I have baked a pan of biscuits,

For her edification.

Sister Darling presents me with

A red envelope, wherein resides

(If I don’t miss my guess)

An embossed card to celebrate the day.

But,

Before I can open it,

She shoos Paw from her locks,

Opens wide her winter cloak,

And

“Oh, My!”

Our repast is threatened

To be delayed.


{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

0

Scots Wha Hae W/ Robbie Burns On Partridge Island

I’ve made a special meal

For Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as dark ale,

With one white mitten.

It will be his second

Robbie Burns Night feast,

 And again, to keep him

In good cheer,

I am going to omit the haggis

(A hellish thing to make anyway),

And lay on the

Tatties & neeps.

But,

Since I doubt Paw will enjoy

Either Spuds or Rutabaga,

There will be a couple of

Mutton chops each,

And a piece of steak.

I will, however,

Have the whisky flowing.

And be in full voice

When I recite:

‘The Selkirk Grace’ by Burns himself.

“Some hae meat and canna eat,

And some wad eat that want it,

But we hae meat and we can eat,

And sae the Lord be thankit.”

And,

If the little bugger

(And myself)

Have more luck than we deserve,

We’ll be sharing our wee feast

With Sister Darling, of the

Rarified Church of the World (Reformed)

Who is

(Hopefully),

Boarding a fishing boat

On its way to our Lighthouse,

Right Now.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025/ A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

0

New Year’s Eve On Partridge Island With Ships At Sea

Just past sunset,

A Frigate and a Brigantine

Sailed past Partridge Island,
Heading out to sea.
The former had a line of sailors

Giving the Lighthouse a salute,
The latter paused to let Sister Darling

Of The Rarified Church of The World (Reformed)
Step onto the dock of the Island,

After she tossed me parcels and bundles

Containing a New Year’s feast.

The ships plied their way to the outer harbour,

Whilst Sister Darling gathered up

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as the new night

With one white mitten,
And we wended our way

Up to the Lighthouse Keeper’s house.


By the time pots and bowls and platters

Of food,

Were ready on the table,

And a haunch of venison, was re-heating

In the oven,

We followed the excited cat/kitten

Toward the Lighthouse, and up the stairs.

We awaited perhaps ten minutes, before

The two ships began firing starburst shells

Toward the approaching year,

Entertaining us, and the boisterous
Crowd on the shore.

It was a glorious sight,

And,
I will report,

That Sister Darling

Supplied

A glorious feast.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

—

http://DaleEstey

0

There Are No Small Gifts On Christmas Day On Partridge Island

Christmas Day is like
Any other day at
The Partridge Island Lighthouse.

Ya gotta trim the wicks,
And renew the oil.
So, I went about my business
At the usual time, only noting that
Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as soot

With one white mitten,
Had abandoned me.
‘Mice’, thought I.

For there are always mice
On Partridge Island.
But, I found out

(After my chores were done),
That wily Paw had used stealth
– and his sensitive hearing –
To scurry to my Lighthouse-keepers house.


When I returned, as darkness settled,
I saw twinkling lights 
Through the windows,
And smelled the  delightful warmth

Of roasted fowl, and sweetened baking,
As I walked through the door.

Sister Darling, of

The Rarified Church of the World (Reformed)

Had hired a fishing boat to
Bring her to the Island, whilst I

Was occupied in the tower.

She had put her pre-baked goods
Into the oven, and
Stoked the fire.

A bottle of red wine, and
A bottle of white,
Sat upon the kitchen table.
And

Paw, the cat/kitten
Had a red red riband tied

Around his neck,
With a key attached.
I took it. 
When I turned,
Sister Darling removed a small casket.
And handed it to me.

I used the key
To open a tiny lock.

I Opened it,
And looked inside.
Oh, My!
Oh, My!!
It GLOWED.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

0

Bedford the Cat Goes Reluctantly Into A Christmas Eve Storm

Bedford the Cat had been stuck inna house for three days. He did not take heed (really) to the explanation that it was -17C with a windchill, and iffen he went out, he would freeze off his ears. He complained and sulked and batted the tree ornaments. Oh, yes – and sulked.


But this morning, the temperature was reasonable (even for thin ears) and his kindly humans decided he could skedaddle into the outside. However, when the door was opened, he was met by a howling snowstorm. Howling loud enough to almost – almost – drown out his howls of complaint.


“This is it, kitty cat,” said one of the kindly humans

Get your arse in gear,” said the other.
For, you see, the kindly humans had already rugged themselves up – hats, scarves and mittens – and that darn cat was going out.

And out he went.


Now, the kindly humans were not so kind that they planned to stay out long. Only long enough, for Bedford the Cat to get a decent run of exercise, and (with luck) desire on his lonesome to go back in.
Well, down the street he trotted, taking some time to bat at snowflakes. And then he reached the end of the street where the fence is, and looked around, and sniffed the air, and then, in the blizzard, took a great, heartfelt, and long-lasting poop.

Although Bedford-the-Cat had adequate facilities inna house, it looked as iffen he had not utilized them. And after this triumph of satisfaction, he proceeded to cover it all up.


And then he proceeded on his usual way. This is along a rough little road, with trees and a field and bushes to explore. There are also two abandoned vehicles near the other end, and he went under each in turn to get out of the storm.


Then, Bedford the Cat came to a narrow lane, which leads up a hill on the way back to the house, where he had been HELD A PRISONER for three days, so his ears wouldn’t fall off.


He was now more used to the blizzard, and took some time to sniff under favourite trees, and look into a backyard to see if his friend, the orange cat, was there. Then he sensed where a more familiar trail might be, under the snow, and went in that direction. He was back near his house, so his kindly humans let him be, and beat their fearless way back to the house themselves.


In about ten minutes, Bedford the Cat was himself at the front door, letting his humans know it was time to open the door. His benevolent humans did as requested.


Bedford the Cat went to his food dish, got a bit of food and a bit of a treat, and went for some rest on the couch.
Bedford the Cat has not indicated a desire to go out since.


DE

0

When Does The Change Of Season, Affect Paw, The Cat/Kitten?

Paw the cat/kitten,
Black as dirt, with one white mitten,
Sought me out in the lighthouse.
He climbed the whole way

Up to the Lantern Room,
Which he usually avoids

Because the revolving light
Spooks him.
He doesn’t like the shadows.
But, there he was.
He meowed,
Which he doesn’t do

All that much.
But,
When I kept at my chores,
He came over and put his claws
Into my pant leg,
And pulled.

When he’s this insistent, I follow.
So, down through the tower,
Impatient at the door,
Outside and waiting,

To be sure that I follow,
Then he heads to the shore
Facing out to sea.
It’s a well trod path
(For a cat)
And I move swiftly (but carefully).
I find him waiting at the base
Of a five foot, stunted tree.
So I went over to look.

There was a small amount of snow,
Caught between the gnarled roots.
The remnants of some snow squall,
That obviously had passed in the night.
Knowing he had my full attention,
He stood over it
And pissed mightily,
Turning it yellow.


It’s going to be a long winter.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

0

Where Do You Go When You’re Lost In The Fog?

Paw, the cat/kitten

Black as being blind

With one foggy mitten,

Is lost,
And coughing,

In the fog.

He lets me know

Of his displeasure,

Which I can hear from him
Even if I can’t see.

It is a Friday of fog,

Which has followed a
Week of fog,

From the Monday last.

It has made Partridge Island

Disappear into the sea.

The Lighthouse light

Is so smothered, even I

Can not see it from its base.


Paw blames me for this,

And also blames me for 

The incessant foghorn that

– I hope –

Penetrates the gloom to

Ships at sea.

I sit

And knit

Paw, my protesting cat,


A woolen cap

To stop up his ears.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

0

Casting A Prayer Onto The Sea For Summer Solstice

Sister Darling, of

The Rarefied Church Of The World (Reformed),

Is not a selfish gal

Except – perhaps –
On the business of the Lord.

So, when she transported herself

Through the kind intervention

Of a fishing boat,

To Partridge Island,

In this sweltering heat,

To celebrate the Summer Solstice,

I don’t believe it was just

To be cool,

Even though the Island

Is the coolest place you could be,

Surrounded by water, and ocean breezes,

As it is.

She scooped up Paw, The Cat/Kitten

Black as Agate

With one white mitten,

(He never minds being part

Of her adventures)

And off we went, at a quick clip.

From the Lighthouse we aimed for

The very tip of the Island.

Jutting into the sea.

She put down Paw.

Hauled out a timepiece and chain,

(It had been her fathers)

And flicked open the lid.

“Four minutes,” she said.

And when that time had passed

She intoned a Celtic prayer:

“O mother ocean, welcome me in your arms,
bathe me in your waves,
and keep me safe
so that I may return to land once more.”

“Is that not a Heretic prayer?” I asked.

“Don’t be so narrow – it is All the same God.”

She didn’t open her eyes,

But pointed directly at Paw,

And the crazy little bugger

Nodded his head.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑