A cat is not a cat
Until it sits on someone’s lap and purrs,
And purrs contentedly and does not stir,
Content to rest, and sweetly blest,
Their owners lap preferred.
A cat is not a cat until it finds a home.
A place of love, of comfort
And a place from which to roam.
And when all is said and done
When life has almost gone,
That cat has had it's bestest life
When that lap belongs to Don.
That was lovely David, so well written. Thank you. Xxx😥💖
that is good. I hope don finds it a consolation
Excellent poem for Donald. Well thought out....
Nicely put xx
What a lovely poem for Don. Hope you have a wonderful day Greenthorn.. Brian
Aaaw so nice for Don x
That is nice, but I don't know whether to smile or cry. Don and Puss were so well matched. xxx
I did both!
That was a lovely poem, thank you. Unfortunately all cats are not like Don’s Puss. We had a rescue cat for 16 years. She was very feisty but did mellow with age, but the first time she allowed me to pick her up and stroke her on my lap, was the morning she died, but I’ll remember those moments for ever!
Hi Helenw7 - that must have been a bitter-sweet moment for you, a coming together and then a goodbye. Maybe it was a "thankyou."
But your story reminds me of when I and my brother were choirboys at our local church. Whenever there might be an anthem sung by a cboirboy then the choirmaster would always favour teh head chorister to sing, a ruddy cheeked and snobby boy, albeit with a sweet voice.. Very occasionally another goody-goody choir boy would be chosen. And then one Whit Sunday my brother and I were selected to sing a duet to "O for the wings of a dove" which we sang at the morning service, accompanied by the choirmaster on organ.
When we arrived at the evening service, all the boys were gathered by one of the male adults and were told in hushed tones that our choirmaster had died that afternoon of a heart attack. After the service, my mother and her neighbour, who had both attended the service, were chatting away in the street, when the neighbour said, (speaking of the choirmaster), "He never let your boys sing. but when he did, it killed him."
We rescued a wild kitten. Much the same story as yours. Would scratch your limbs to pieces if given a chance and warbled at us for weeks after it failed to come home for a month. Then in later age our Tim became a tame pussy X
Lovely sentiments. x
❤️x
Lovely!
Says it all 🤗🤗🤗🌹
So very true.
Did something happen to Puss?
Sadly, Puss died very recently. See Don's post "My Cat Puss" of three days ago.
Oh no. Thank you Greenthorn.
A poem for lyd12 on Sunday
A poem by Midge.
