"An Ode to the Cat Lady"

There once was an old woman who lived far from the sea,

With her cats, not one, not two….but in all, twenty-three.

All day she peered out a window clouded and drafty,

Hung askew by her husband, a carpenter though not at all crafty.

Slowly she rocked in an old split-backed chair,

With four cats in her lap and one perched atop her grey, matted hair.

The room was dimly lit, the surroundings quite shabby,

Brightened only by the presence of her prized golden tabby.

The old man shuffled in and placed a log on the fire,

But the woman’s gaze, undisturbed, remained fixed on the shire.

As a small flame flickered, providing precious little heat,

he rummaged through a cabinet, searching for something to eat. 

But in this dreary cottage, no food could be found,

Save one chubby mouse scurrying boldly across the ground.

A feline pounced, and then scarfed down her treat, 

refusing to share even a bite of this rare, choice meat.

Licking her lips and proudly flicking her tail, 

The triumphant kitty strode past the ol’ fellow now sipping an ale. 

Finally, the woman turned her attention,

To the happenings occurring inside her tiny kitchen.

The kettle let off steam and gave out a whistle,

And she hobbled to the stove as if stepping on a thistle.

Pouring the hot liquid into a large mug,

She took a sip of the dark beverage which had long ago become her drug.

Settling back into her chair with a view,

Eight cats crowded ‘round her, then six more swarmed, too.

She stared once more out into the gloom,

And wondered if ever again she would see flowers bloom. 

The sun never shone, not even a ray 

And that’s why she drank sad earl gray.