Park Scene
(A Plot in the Cat-house)

He brings me lumps of horse or bullock or cow.

He regularly hoses my floor & never fails
to stroke my head or pat my bottom
affectionately (when certain I’ll permit it).

He wears black trousers, big boots, a silly hat.

It's not possible he can get closer - can thump his chest,
or brandish long arms & fat fingers, or roar frighteningly.

Cautiously he'll pull my whiskers slightly;
& certainly (dear odd little man) I like him, I like
his round stomach, his smooth face & big ears,
his black eyes & his muttonchop thighs bulging.

But when daily stupidly he bends over my watertank
(his back & tiny legs bent, his hat toppled
over his eyes) something - somebody - shouts,
& someday I’ll flatten, I’ll crush him...

Chasing him in-&-out,
up-&-down, round-&-round - squeaking, squeaking.


Evidently my keeper cares quite deeply about me. He vaguely sees I'm a lion, but has idiotic ideas about himself. Imagines he's a gorilla!

I often feel close to him; but when he looks feeble like a mouse, I have a powerful urge to flatten him.