By Melinda Merijanian –
We don’t sleep a wink at night,
So we can nap at day.
We sleep and lounge when it is light,
So night fall is our play.
We hope you have had a restful rejuvenating Sunday!
an author’s poem – Melinda Merijanian
Contently curled on the cashmere throw as if it were an inherited personal heirloom.
Basking in the sun as a bikini clad model would, with the expectation of accolades from passers-by. Sleeping all hours of the day and never lifting a paw, since there is the required staff. Dining on meals with a preference of an attentive audience. The nocturnal one, who finds it convenient to wake you all hours of the night, for a snuggle.
Irreplaceable, is this cat to one’s heart.
Watching from window to window, curiously wondering if this is a new friend or just a passing fancy.
Busy birds, nesting, chirping, eating and flying quickly through.
We try to chat with them, but without success. So, We enjoy the moment under the blue, cloudy or rain filled skies, wondering where their fancy wings take them, Pretty Birds.
An author’s poem – M.L.Merijanian
Gentle eyes that see so much,
paws that have the quiet touch,
Purrs to signal “all is well”
and show more love than words could tell.
Graceful movements touched with pride,
a calming presence by our side –
A friendship that takes time to grow –
Small wonder why we love them so.
I grew up reciting this story for fun, and for a good bit of competition with my twin sister, Melissa. We listened to this tale, via a Danny Kaye record of children’s stories. The irony is my Father’s name, is Daniel Kay, so we must have been good listeners. Those days, created a childhood full of simple, gentle and good wholesome fun. What a blessing to have loving wonderful parents! Melissa and I still recite this as fast as we can, with proud smiles. White-faced Simminy, the cat, created the “tail” around this English Fairy tale. Please enjoy, and do read this to your children.
A Girl once went to the fair to hire herself for servant. At last a funny-looking old gentleman engaged her and took her home to his house. When she got there, he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things.
He said to her, “What will you call me?” “Master or mister, or whatever you please, sir,” says she. He said, “You must call me master of all masters.’ And what would you call this?” pointing to his bed. “Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir.” “No, that’s my ‘barnacle’. And what do you call these?” said he, pointing to his pantaloons. “Breeches or trousers, or whatever you please, sir.” “You must call them ‘squibs and crackers.’ And what would you call her?” pointing to the cat. Cat or kit, or whatever you please, sir.'”You must call her ‘white-faced simminy’
” And this now,” showing the fire, “what would you call this?” “Fire or flame, or whatever you please, sir.” “You must call it ‘hot cockalorum’; and what this?” he went on, pointing to the water. “Water or wet, or whatever you please, sir.” “No, ‘pondalorum’ is its name.
And what do you call all this?” asked he, as he pointed to the house. “House or cottage, or whatever you please, sir.” “You must call it ‘high topper mountain.'”
That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright and said, “Master of all masters, get out of your barnacle and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail, and unless you get some pondalorum high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum….”
That’s all 🙂
Originally, my thoughts were to find a picture of a cat in the fog, since Grace and Twilight will never be out in the fog, and place Carl Sandburg’s poem, Fog along side. But, alas this has been done, and done well. Take a look at this blog and original art by Laurel Neustadter.
However, I do love this poem and wanted to share it with you here, on my Modern Cat Life blog. I have thought of it often over the years after seeing dense fog caught in the hills of the Missouri landscape, floating in the mountains of Virginia, Washington D.C. and Colorado, and sitting still over the rivers in Alabama. This poem haunts me in a good way.
The picture below is a birds-eye view from the second story of my Alabama backyard. I think this old man in the Chinese Tallow, “popcorn” tree may be reciting this poem as his picture was taken in the dense fog. What do you think?
“Give me six oysters, that is all; Hodge knows when he has had enough, Hodge is my cat.”
Samuel Johnson‘s love for his cat was unconditional and a beautiful story of how we become attached to our feline friends. Thanks to my Mother’s gift, I am reminded of Hodge and his oysters in our library. I think Grace may have a crush.