Persian Cat Poems


True

When
the green eyes
Of a cat
look deep into
You

you know
That
whatever it is
they are saying
is
true.

Lilian Moore

I Feel the Same Way

The Cat Is a Creature

The cat is a creature of most refined and subtle perceptions naturally.

The contrast in this respect between cats and other animals is very striking. I will not wrong the noble canine nature so far as to say that it has no delicacy, but its delicacy is not of this kind, not in actual touch, as the cat’s is. The motions of the cat, being always governed by the most refined sense of touch in the animal world, are typical in quite a perfect way of what we call tact in the human world. And as a man who has tact exercises it on all occasions for his own satisfaction, even when there is no positive need for it, so a cat will walk daintily and observantly everywhere, whether amongst the glasses on a dinner table or the rubbish in a farmyard.

Roger Caras
Roger Caras Treasury

Exceedingly Proud

I will admit to feeling exceedingly
Proud when any cat has singled
me out for notice; for, of course,
every cat is really the most beautiful woman
in the room. That is part of their
deadly fascination.

E.V. Lucas
365 Days and One More

The Lost Persian Cat

By Mo Jamal

From rooftop to rooftop
Morning to morning
Night to night
Valley to valley
Door to door
It rubs itself against the pant-legs of the night
Meow, meow
Oh forlorn kitty

With its soft paws
With its kind legs
With its warm heart
It has caressed the entire earth
What thorns
Have pricked its paws
What kicks on its back
What stones at its head
Meow, meow, wretched Persian cat
Meow, forlorn kitty

Persian cat!
What are you doing here?
What kitchen
Smells of peace?
Which bed
        as pure as the first night
Will accept you?
Who? Who?
Who could wash away
The dust of wandering
The dust and the rubble
The ashes of war
From my eyes
Give meaning to beauty
And call me
To her bed

I have begged for peace
Years and years
Door to door
I have rubbed myself against the merciless pant-legs of the night
Meow, meow … meow

Hamlet’s Cat Soliloquy

To go outside, and there perchance to stay
Or to remain within: that is the question:
Whether ’tis better for a cat to suffer
The cuffs and buffets of inclement weather
That Nature rains on those who roam abroad,
Or take a nap upon a scrap of carpet,
And so by dozing melt the solid hours
That clog the clock’s bright gears with sullen time
And stall the dinner bell. To sit, to stare
Outdoors, and by a stare to seem to state
A wish to venture forth without delay,
Then when the portal’s opened up, to stand
As if transfixed by doubt. To prowl; to sleep;
To choose not knowing when we may once more
Our readmittance gain: aye, there’s the hairball;
For if a paw were shaped to turn a knob,
Or work a lock or slip a window-catch,
And going out and coming in were made
As simple as the breaking of a bowl,
What cat would bear the household’s petty plagues,
The cook’s well-practiced kicks, the butler’s broom,
The infant’s careless pokes, the tickled ears,
The trampled tail, and all the daily shocks
That fur is heir to, when, of his own free will,
He might his exodus or entrance make
With a mere mitten? Who would spaniels fear,
Or strays trespassing from a neighbor’s yard,
But that the dread of our unheeded cries
And scratches at a barricaded door
No claw can open up, dispels our nerve
And makes us rather bear our humans’ faults
Than run away to unguessed miseries?
Thus caution doth make house cats of us all;
And thus the bristling hair of resolution
Is softened up with the pale brush of thought,
And since our choices hinge on weighty things,
We pause upon the threshold of decision.

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