Many a time I have sat
Contemplating the floor
Why is it below my feet
And not in front
Like a door?
I count walls up to four
Each taller than my head
But I look around
And unimpressed
I walk the floor to bed
Rugs are fun to slide across
The floor on which I stand
But who and where
Thought to put
A place for me to land
I think and wonder
What change I’d make
If the floor did not exist
I vision hanging from above
By rope and string and tape.
Enough, enough I meow
I can’t take it any more
I’m tired of thinking
Tired of wondering
All about the floor.
Dear Santa,
We have been very good this year if you don’t look too closely
at Fern. She is busy learning not to tease the dog or hiss and whack
at me, but being good is really hard, and it’s taking her a
while. She has yet to move off the afghan to give me equal time, but
I’m sure she will, especially as we get closer to hanging up
our stockings. Just because Fern races to the food dish first is not
always a bad thing. I’m betting she’s just making sure
the food is perfect for me to eat, if she leaves any that is. Then
there is the loving from meowmie, those tail scratches and long pats
from the head to the tail. Fern seems to get them all, but I bet it
is just an oversight on her part. I’ll maybe mention it, then
run just in case. She doesn’t take criticism well.
Santa, I’ll leave treats for you on Christmas Eve. My stocking
is the smaller one. Fern’s is the one which reaches to the floor.
If the treats are gone when you arrive, don’t blame me.
Love,
Maddie
