The Cats Walk in To Play: a Poem by Emmanuel Thomastein

The cats walk in to play,

Not one of them a stray,

They twirl and whirl and grin so wide,

How they puff their chests up in such pride.


100 cats I count in total,

not one of them self described as mortal,

black and white and striped and splotched,

Their swishing tails taped up with scotch.


A cat lets out the yarn to fall,

Over the floor in this room now a ball,

Red yarn, blue yarn, white yarn too,

Oh, what does this mean to me and you.


Each find a ball to scratch and play with,

A ball to help them say yay and nay with

Scratch and torn and worn quite thin

How these cats continue to grin


And now they get up, and leave the room,

Someone cleans up all this yarn with a broom

The cats now go on their own way

No longer than interested to play


But, it doesn’t quite take that long

For these cats to remember where they belong

And to enter back into that playground

With much fanfare and sound


Let leash the balls of yarn they cry,

And red balls and blue balls and white balls too fall from the sky,

And they go back to their constant preening

Now their eyes back to their evil gleaming

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