Yet another old writing on the subject at hand…

by ithunts

What The Cartoonist Sees


Meow around my feet

They make noise

But none that I could ever reproduce,

Though I long to.

Gone too far tonight

To think like a cat.

To survive off of milk

And think nothing of that other liquid,

That wicked stuff

That these kittens do not miss.

And I am certain, now

That the cartoonist

Would draw many more lines

Showing a forward motion,

Trailing behind these kittens

Than I have had

Since that age

When I made sounds

That cannot be reproduced.

Around my mothers tit

Where I drank

And was somehow satisfied.