The Cat Poem (now in Spanish and English)

Author’s note: I’m not sure what happened to me for wanting to write a poem about cats (as you can see, I selected a great name for the poem); I just did it, out of nowhere. I must have shot myself somehow because I don’t care about cats. To be honest, if God gave me a choice between cats and cockroaches, I would go for the latter – and I’m sure I could have been a happier person. I think cats are good for something, I’m not sure what, maybe rats. It all goes back to when I was a boy scout, or so a psychologist would say: flashbacks, the white rabbit syndrome. When I was camping at Camp St. Croix, Minnesota, when I was thirteen, I was in a big tent with kids, and guess who woke me up? Yes, a cat purring through my mouth hits my throat, and it scared the hell out of me when I opened my eyes and saw those marble eyes fixed on mine.

Now that I think about it, maybe this poem is long overdue. In any case, I dedicate it to all cat lovers, to include my wife:

The cat poem

Cats, I never took care of them;

My wife had, before we were married,

Fifteen of them.

They are too gentlemen in the house

For me-:

Too aristocratic, able to please.

They are everything but what they

It seems, and

They seem surreal; and endlessly

Dreaming, or maybe it’s scheming

(I can’t tell the difference) -but,

One thing I know: they have mystique

Marble-eye-balls-: it gives me the creeps.

# 1065 6/1/06

IN SPANISH

Translated by Nancy Peñaloza

Editing by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

The cat poem

By Dennis Siluk

Note to author: I’m not sure what got in me the desire to write a Poem to the Cat (as you can see I selected a great number for the poem); I just did it, when I least expected it. I must have been motivated in some way, because I’m not interested in cats. To be honest, if God gave me a choice between cats and cockroaches, I would choose the latter; and I am sure that I would be a happier person. I think cats are good for something, I’m not sure what for, maybe rats.

This all comes from when I was a Boy Scout Boy Scout, or at least that’s what I’d say to Psychologist: Flashback Scenes, White Rabbit Syndrome. When I was about 13 years old, I was camping in Saint Croix (in Minnesota), I found myself in a big tent with kids, and guess what woke me up? Yes, a cat purring under my mouth its paws on my throat, and it knocked me out of my mind, when I opened my eyes and saw those eyeballs staring into my eyes.

Now that I think about it, maybe this poem is too overdue. Anyway, I dedicate it to all the cat lovers out there, including my wife:

The cat poem

Cats, I was never interested;

My wife had -before our wedding-

Fifteen of them-

They its arrogant too at home

For me-:

Very aristocratic – to please you.

They are everything but not what

They seem, and

They seem strange, and dreamy

Endless – or maybe your schemers

(I can’t tell the difference) -but,

One thing I know: they have eyes

Mystics-that give me the creeps.

# 1065 January 6, 2006