No cat of mine’s confuddled by cartoons,
in fact, purr-furs, when they're playing, not to snooze,
and flips from Ratatouille to raccoons
as nimbly as your kiddies take their cues.
Sphinx-like, my rascal eyes the screen a smile,
but stays his ambush of bite-size wildebeest,
being wise to having once tried that dial
and smacked a lunch wouldn't yield in the least.
He’s wise to the ways of living indoors,
adapting to having been out before,
with wedding both worlds to these scenes on all fours,
or feathers, or sketch—yet never fool for :
To watch him watch is to know which is which—
Only God’s creatures will make his tail twitch.
© Helga Ross 2008