They never stop, the cats
Their glossy coats and smiling lies deceive us
Into trusting them
With the precious fruits of our labours.
But when we turn our backs
Out come the claws and assholes
Ripping fragile shoots and sprouts
Replacing them with steaming piles of shit
Brusque scraped over to conceal the damage.
A friendly shoo, or irately driven
Missile are met with outraged cries
And the promise, not to remember and reform,
But to return, unmoved,
And do their thing again.
Then, home and crying at the kitchen door
The strident demand for thick meat
As if by right
Unheedful of the work involved
In breeding, cutting, stewing
Or, even, the ironic need
To grow, untainted by feline crap,
Plants to feed the Whiskas-to-be.
Once sated, settled down to cushion ease,
With fecund dreams of endless fish and cream
Produced on tap by slaves unthinking, grateful
For the gentle soft of fur-bound manacles,
They stretch and purr and plan
Another day of fun and vegan carnage
Relentless are the slugs and snails
Lurking in the dark, damp places
Leaving trails of shine where light is scarce.
False beauty, hiding from the cleansing sun.
But when its stringent brightness fades away
At night, or when rain has stopped play
They emerge from holy battlements,
An army bent on first young growth,
They’re at the birth, seizing fresh treasure.
Little chewy mouths chomping away
Until nothing lasts to reach up to the sun
And continue the cycle of growth.
By their greed they destroy
Their own future, depending on
A god to step in and produce more.
But still they chomp, oblivious,
Taking no responsibility for their,
Or others’ future.
Uncaring of the consequence.
Unthinking, unblinking, bent on rite and rights
They take their tythe and nine tythes more.
The butterflies promise so much
With their gaudy trappings
And dazzling hints of paradise
Light and burden free
Blown in on fairy wings to
Blind us with colour and a sense
Of fulfilment in a zodiac that is
Nothing but good.
But their sell is get now pay later.
For once their delicate shadow
Has skipped to pastures new,
The bombs they’ve dropped
Tick quick to fecund blast.
A cluster of hungry mouths
Spreading from their epicentre
To demolish and destroy
The virgin buds of
All that gave you joy.
But have no fear
They’ll soon be back
Flashing the goods
A blazing spectrum
Of nonsense
To fool you once again.
Steve Jeanes