If not for sleeps why it made of sheet?
If not for rolls, nothing for pen is made.
If not for looks, why cat-butt cuter than screens?
If laptop made of warms, cat-sits made for laptops.
If not batshit crazy what means
Talking to zoom-thing lack-stops?
Generally concerned, but in particular, that
When a choice is offered of laptops
The troubled hoomans prefer to hold
The one that makes them frown and groan
And flail about and droop and drop. He wishes
They would simply do as they were told
And exercise their digits on his back and
Chin. One can see his patience is running
Thin, in fact is almost gone. He would much
Prefer their laptops to the ones that
He is on.
So our cat is being raised by the dog.
He’s learnt to tilt his head like she does
The better to hear, and she goes nervously
To him if there is any fear that someone
Is going to catch it for pushing ornaments off
The table again. No surprise then
That today he was initiated into the
Rite of Passage – or the Rite of the
Lane, at any rate – the first associated
With attaining Watchdoghood: the
Guardian and Protector of the
Neighbourhood. She demonstrates the
Position on the Perch, paws out, tail
Behind. From here you can see them
She explains, go down the lane to the
Garage and into the street. In case
They need you to find them. You never know
She warns, if they’ll come back. It’s vital
Therefore, that we keep track.
Joey cranes his neck, tries not to make
It too apparent. He’s sure he’ll grow into it
But right now there’s an inherent impediment:
He can’t see over the balcony wall. He
Can’t let on that he’s not tall. Studiously
He inspects the rail. A cat can never be seen
To fail.
So today the cat fell out
The kitchen window. All
I want to say about
This is, it wasn’t me. I
Didn’t do it. The fall
Doesn’t follow from the fact
That I opened it. Wide.
Or rather – wider. Why hide
The fact that a well cooked
Meal requires ventilation.
Needless to say that the family
That denies any facilitation
In the matter, needed no fervent
Invitation to the heaped platters.
I wish to also place on record
My last words to the lord
Of the manor (who flatters
Himself as innocent of the crime):
Shut the window, I clearly said
As he heaved over in his bed.
Or the cat, I swear to god,
Will fall out. He laughs now,
And thinks it’s funny to point out how
This is one down out of nine.
So I’m saying this for the last
Time: this is everyone’s fault
But mine.
Giti Chandra 