A cat’s Christmas

A cat’s got to
partake of Christmas when he can.

The stockings, the tree,
the carols that we hear,
the yule log on the screen,
the Christmas cards we send,
the shopping spree, the
brightly colored bows,
the photos that are different,

the ones that never show
all parts of Christmas
that belong to cats.
I’m growling in my throat
until they start to listen,

to take my part,
to do things right.
I want the Yule log to burn
at all times, I want snow inside
and outside, I want stockings filled
no matter where I sit.

I want to share Christmas
from my own little point of view.

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A worn-out black dress that still fits me just fine —

That I can still wear to the shops.

I hate to admit it,

But the hem is ragged and worn thin

And the sleeves are short —

The pink is faded to grey and nearly gone —

It’s stained from old dirt and tears.

A raggedy black dress

Dusty and worn thin ,

My raggedy, raggedy black dress.

Is not that the story of my life?

The faded pink is me,

The ragged-edged sleeves

Are my shrinking hopes,

The ever-shrinking size of the hem is

The ever-shrinking distance between me

And the store house of my dreams.

My raggedy black dress

Tells my story well…

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