author’s note: I’m not sure what got me for wanting to write a poem about cats (as you can see I picked a great name for the poem); I just did it, out of nowhere. I must have provoked myself somehow because I don’t like cats. To be honest, if God gave me a choice between cats and cockroaches, I’d go with the latter: and I’m sure I could have been a happier person. I think cats are good for something, 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 on the St. Croix (Minnesota) campgrounds when I was about thirteen years old, I was in a big tent with kids, and guess who woke me up? Yes, a cat purring through my mouth caresses my throat, and it scared the hell out of me when I opened my eyes to see those marble eyes staring back at me.

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

the cat poem

Cats, I never cared for them;

My wife had, before we were married,

Fifteen of them-

They are too stately at home.

Shape-:

Too aristocratic to please.

They are everything but what they are

it seems, and

They seem surreal; and without end

Dreaming, or maybe it’s a scheme

(I can’t tell the difference), but,

One thing I do know: they have mystique

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

#1065 06/01/06

IN SPANISH

Translated by Nancy Penaloza

Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

the cat poem

By Dennis Siluk

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

This all stems from when I was a boy scout, or at least that’s what a Psychologist would say: Flashbacks, the 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 children, and guess what woke me up? Yes, a cat purring under my mouth his paws on my throat, and it threw 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 late. Anyway, I dedicate it to all the cat lovers out there, including my wife:

the cat poem

Cats, never interested me;

My wife had-before our wedding-

Fifteen of them-

They are too arrogant at home

For me-:

Very aristocratic- to please them.

They are everything but not what

they seem, and

They seem strange, and dreamy

Endless-or maybe they are schemers

(I can’t tell the difference)-but,

One thing I know: they have eyes

Mystics-they give me chills.

# 1065 6/January/2006