I am delighted that my friend allowed me to use her cat poems, we hope you enjoy them.  Pauline’s cat Bear is a true character and a caring spirit.

Jumblefluff Paws

 by Pauline Sheppard

It was not hands and feet

that had ruffled the bed.

It was rather

“four paws of a cat,”

she said.

“that trampoline-jumped,

Then scuffled,

cuffuffulled

and the ruffled the bed today.”

 

“Four paws that

bounced;

with tail all

fullounced

in twitchery, whiskery

pounce.”

 

“That’s why the bed

is all tousled,”

she said.

“Nothing fingers and toes,

just a jumblefluff ball,

with four little paws,

and a generous helping

of claws.”

©2012 Pauline Sheppard

On the road to Land’s End

There’s an old saying: “You can’t herd cats!” “Cats walk alone.”

But I’ve seen a herd of cats, and this is the story.

There’s a farm call Boleigh

on one end of a bend

in the road that leads to Land’s End.

There’s a sign on the road.

It says:  CATS! PLEASE GO SLOW!

So I do, but the cats are fast.

Was that a green eye that winked in the gorse?

Or a tail that twitched in the grass?

that I saw as I drove slowly past?

(You can’t herd cats! It’s absurd!)

 

Many’s the day that I stop at Boeigh

for the cows to cross over the road.

From field to dairy and dariy to field

The black and white Freisians plod.

I look out for signes of pointy cat ears,

Or maybe the soft silky paws?

…. The farmer has whiskers, that’s very odd!

But it’s only a moustache of course.

Nothing but hooves and horns appear.

Nothing with pads or claws.

       (You can’t herd cats! It’s absurd!)

 

Then one day it happened,

in a mystical way,

on the road that leads to Land’s End.

As I can round the bend,

They were suddenly there!

CATS! From end to end,

Noses out forward, tails pointing back,

flying behind the cows.

then came the farme, who waved at me,

And flashed a whiskery smile.

       (You can’t herd cats! It’s absurd!)

 

 Black cats, white cats,

Tabbies and Tortoiseshells,

Big Ginger Toms and little grey kittens.

Long-haried, short-haired, fluffy and sleek,

the kittens and cats and cats and kittens.

Leaving the dairy, bounding and leaping,

prancing and jumping and dancing and flying

towards a big green field.

The whiskery farmer smiled and winked

as he hearded his cows and his cats.

       (You can’t herd cats! It’s absurd!)

 

The very next night the moon was full,

like a great big dish of cream.

And I went to Boleight and I saw

another mystical scene.

A committee of cats in a circle sat

blocking the whole of the road.

Cats and kittens and kittens and cats

speaking without a word.

Then they stood up as one, and they moved as one

towards the big green field.

       (You can’t herd cats! It’s absurd!)

 

On the other end of the bend at Boleight

You’ll find The Merry Maidens.

A big stone circle which, they say,

are maids turned to stone for dancing.

And over the road,

In the big green field,

stands a tall granite stone all alone.

It’s the piper, they say,

who played for the maids,

He too all turned to stone.

 

Well I think the stones are cats,

not maidens;

and the piper’s the whiskery farmer.

And when the full moon’s

like a big dish of cream,

the cats and kittens and kittens and cats

come bounding and prnacing and dancing and flying

at the farm called Boleigh,

on one end of the bend,

in the road that leads to Land’s End.

       (You can’t herd cats! It’s absurd!)

 

©2012 Pauline Sheppard