RIMSKY’S THE LIMIT Rimsky was a business cat but he had no suit and had no hat. Nonetheless he knew what he was about when he told his bold colleagues how to act without fear in the big wide commercial sphere. They ran a factory those industrial felines and dominance was their motivation. No other kitties throughout the nation were quite as ruthless or half as lethal despite their purrs as Rimsky’s gang of profiteers. Hostile takeovers and mergers increased their assets yearly and Rimsky grew less surly and licked his fangs in sheer delight as every deal he struck went right for his furry people all of whom were other cats who loved to win. By charging less than his rivals he undercut them drastically and forced them into bankruptcy until his firm was the only one among the few left in credit. “Rimsky is a bandit. To rack and ruin he has driven us!” they all said it and it was perfectly true. Dog biscuits was the product that Rimsky’s empire was based on and when he had a monopoly he changed the ingredients to summarise his power. A few drops of poison in the flour and the greatest dream of every feline was realised. The dogs they died one by one across the land. Such fun for Rimsky and his friends, that merry band, to witness the harrowing ends of mongrels and pedigrees alike. A joyous and uplifting sight to crown their delight as they walked around the dogless towns. Dog and bird who hear these words take care to guard your skin. Beware of fat sinful cats devoted to the profit margin!
The Cat that Got the Cream
Tufty was the cat
that got the cream but he went
very far to get it.
Out the door and down the street
on his little furry feet
following the North Star
in a sort of waking dream.
Who had sent this gentle puss
on such an arduous errand?
Naught other than
his own desire to see the world
before he expired
compelled him through the night.
For sure he must get
the cream before it curdled.
He made no fuss
but simply leapt every hurdle
on his lonesome path.
Over walls and hedges he did go
until he reached his
destination, which was the local
train station, and there
he waited for the milk train
to arrive at long last.
Shaken and churned
by the motion of the locomotive
the milk should be
the finest cream he might hope to see
or sniff and taste
in summer, winter or any season.
This at least was Tufty’s
reasoning… He wasn’t wrong.
BIAS TO KITTENS I wear a poem as a hat one of yours in fact. I stole it from a chest of drawers while you were distracted by the claws on the shadow of the paws of a cat. That cat was me and still I am but now I have a sonnet with a brim. It was written with a quill and homemade ink. You are an old fashioned damsel, I think. If you were a kitten and fast asleep upon my lap, I doubt I would mind your blatant theft of all my hats and maps. Even the plundering of my bulging purse would be forgiven, let alone the snatching of such a minor verse. But you are not. My, it is hot under this hat!
Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
One reply on “Cat Poems by Rhys Hughes”
These are the cats meow. Lovely work.
LikeLiked by 1 person