Friday, February 18, 2011
My Cat Phillippe
by Lisa B.
Phillippe, Phillippe, you most sable of cats,
Bringer of all things happy, murderer of rats,
What are you thinking, oh noble lord of ghetto fief?
A castrato at 5 months, it must not be of obtaining a wife.
Phillippe, Phillippe, your eyes do glow,
God’s palate of orange, green, and yellow.
Do those orbs vaguely conceal a soul?
Of conscious thought beyond the scope of human control?
Do you give me comfort when I weep?
Or has your mistress torn the fetters of sanity away
in a single cat-like leap?
Phillippe, Phillippe, a Christmas gift for me,
Better than electronics and in the end much more costly.
You were sick and dying, we did not know,
Thank God for modern medicine, my beloved friend,
and 800 dollars or so.
Phillippe, Phillippe, named after a professor,
you must be more than a little bit clever,
With a cat’s heart from a broken mold
and a personality too precious to be sold,
Phillippe the great and the bold.
But tell me, Phillippe, tell me please,
where were you those two months you took leave ?
When we moved to the new neighborhood,
and I feared you were lost for good?
Until one evening, there you stood.
Did you love me so much that you made sure you to find me again?
Now never roaming far from home,
Phillippe, Phillippe, my most constant friend,
I love you forever, understand?