I hope, when my time to pass from the stage arrives, that I can face it with the graceful stoicism of an old cat.
Locked inside the house,
an old cat sits by a window
staring from unfathomable amber eyes
out to where a young blonde girl frolics
with a plump tabby kitten.
The old cat looks on in silence
while the little girl prances and shrieks
and the foolish tabby scampers and tumbles.
Once the old cat was a frenetic tumbler too,
but those kittenish days are long vanished.
The old cat, inside, gazes outside
at what its reality will be henceforth:
no longer the cutest, the favorite, the centerpiece,
but an afterthought relegated to autopilot love,
petted ever-less-frequently by the little blonde girl.
The old cat, unnoticed, contemplates
the two romping heedless youngsters
playing, playing in their innocent world,
so unaware that they too will fall prey to time...
Then the old cat yawns, and curls up to sleep.
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|Reviewed by Connie Faust
|What? Old cats don't watch game shows and soaps? Well, I don't either!
A very thoughtful poem; wisely, the old cat doesn't obsess over her stage of life.
Welcome to Authors' Den!
|Reviewed by D Johnson
|Lannie, this is a great metaphor for all of our lives...Well done!
|Reviewed by Christine Tsen
(Although I don't believe we can ever be old cats to those that love us. My father is in heart surgery at this moment, and I await a call. Although 87, in my heart he is a most playful kitten.
|Reviewed by Ed Matlack
|We all eventually become "old cats", what else can we do, its the way of life & death...e|