The whiskers are long and arched.

Whiskers stands aside watching the purrs.

The cat licks them wet,

Shiny, prickly bows make thin, strong pets.

Whiskers watches them hiding behind a tree,

The eyes are intent and quiet like a bird free.

The cat blinks, pricks it’s ears, sits folding

the front paws drawn inward; looks like a rabbit.

Whiskers wishes to touch him, love him,

Sleep by him, she wishes to feed him.

Some days she even wishes

To play with his tail,

To trim strong whiskers frail,

to clutch the chin tight,

to watch the rays shine on the shiny fur, bright.

But, the cat is pricy,

The cat is not a pet but a wild.

“Humans are not allowed to touch,”

He desires food for his meows mild.

If you try to go near, he hisses,

If you touch him, he glares,

If you try another time, he elopes

Only to return after three days.

Whiskers wants to become another cat

But, you cannot bell this cat,

If you show him a mirror, he sleeps on it,

If you don’t feed him, the chameleons are eaten alive,

The tongue rolls far and wide, strife ends the strive.

He is a cautious cat,

Whiskers is a die hard fan,

Yet, the cat is testing her patience fat,

Singing “what is my food, who is it, in the can?”

The girlfriend searches for him

But he hides behind the beam

Rubbing the whiskers,

Waiting for her to leave the grim brim.

She is lovelorn, carrying his love,

But, he leaves her food like a dove,

She smells him in the food,

Goes back happily, smelling her dude.

Whiskers stands and stares at the wondrous souls,

She tries to imitate them, live their lives,

Yet she could not make him her own,

Whiskers waits to grab him down

one day, if he frowns

Anymore, friendship and the crowns.


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