Newspaper Dog

This morning, trotting to the park,

We detoured past the kiosk.

From way up high there came a bark

I knew canine was near us!

I couldn’t see (I’m one foot tall)

But I could smell some fur,

So shuffled back - tried not to fall -

And guess, just guess at what I saw?

A giant dog of shaggy grey

Sat just in front of Heat.

He was so tall (I have to say,

He might’ve had a seat).

I struck up chat and asked him what

He liked to read himself,

He pointed at The Guardian

Then plucked one off the shelf

And rifled through and mentioned that

He was a vocal lefty.

He asked me if I’d take one but

I said it was too hefty.

I asked why if he felt so left

He sat on Pete’s right hand,

He barked something about

Having more room on that side

But to be honest, by then, my

Neck was strained

From craning up at him

So I just left him to it.

Cat

I see you.

You are in the box,

The one on the table.

The small brown one

Which originally held

Nothing in particular

Now holds you.

It looks a tight squeeze

But then you have curled

Yourself into smaller spots:

Coiled yourself onto the warm

Tip of the ironing board,

Folded up inside the tumble drier,

Buried your head in scarves and

Tucked four paws and a tight little

Body behind one banana in

The fruit bowl.

Sometimes I wish I, too,

Like you,

Were a Cat, with

Jellybean toes and

Wise, marble eyes.

I would not be pulled

On a string but pull

Myself through flaps

And onto laps,

And when I purred

They would tickle my

Chin and smile.

But then I notice that

Your bowl is smaller than

Mine. I grin down on your

high box, stretch paws out

On my rug,

And nap.

Man’s Best Friend

I have those days when I feel small

And no one knows I’m here at all;

When people step on top of me

As if my face they cannot see

(Almost as if I am not here,

I do not live, I am but air).

I may be small, I may be white,

But does that mean I don’t feel slights

Against my fluffy, furry self?

Please, please don’t leave me by myself!

I know I’m little - oh, so wee -

And that there is not much of me,

I know that I can’t jump so high

Or reach the table, touch the sky,

Yet if you look into my eyes

I think you’ll find a soul inside.

A soul that is so much like yours

(Even though I walk on fours),

One that sings when it is glad

And one which frowns when it gets sad.

So when you pat me on the head -

Or fluff the pillows in my bed -

I feel so giddy I could fly

And reach the table, touch the sky!

So, really - I think you will find -

There’s little between you and I.

The only difference I can spot

Is one which (for you) ain’t so hot.

It makes my tail just wag and wag:

You carry my poo in a bag.