This poem is dedicated to my beloved friends and family – which includes my dearest cat, Kara and her feline father, who goes by the name of: Chaos
With her blazing emerald eyes, and glossy coat of Tiger-stripes,
Nobody could have suspected her of anything, but the very best.
Whiskers of silken snow, and a voice so sweet,
That it freezes the fog in October.
She is a Most Dignified Lady, the belle of the ball,
Who glides through wild jungles of grass as if walking on carpets of soft green
But nobody knows about her secret stash of pigeon feathers,
Or why her blankets are so fluffy, and extra soft…
Nobody knows about the secret trips here and there,
Where she comes back licking her lips with glee!
And with paws covered in more than just innocent tufts of grass,
This lady is more than just a cat to be!
A tumble with a swooping magpie, an encounter with rattus rattus,
This Daughter of Chaos plays her game well!
Protecting the plumpness of the pomegranates, don’t mind if I do!
And of course, the bird feathers as her after-dinner mints,
A most pleasurable indulgence, to brighten up those eyes,
To make them swirl, neon green
And cover up those lies…
Her father was a great feline, Chaos was his name.
Dignified and strong, he was gracious and wise,
A shepherd to the golden fruits and fresh apple rivers,
Guarding the ripest of glittering corn, he never succumbed to the shivers
But it was in the sun, where he would lie majestically,
watching over his kingdom – proud!
But his eyes never left his most beloved treasure,
A cub, an Angel, a baby born into greatness – his little Malaika, to be forever.
But the story goes on, do origins define? Is a name, what will become?
If his name was Chaos, then what was her destiny?
She had listened to all his wise words, but cherry picked the meat of the bones:
“Keep the fig tree clear” (eat all the pests), “listen to the Magpie’s warble” (and listen for the
wounded foot) and “hunt well” (for the prey is fodder!)
But deep down, this bejewelled little feline had a dream of her own,
Her paws may have dabbled in more than bug’s blood, but she too wished to grow up mighty
like her father, and kind like the earth’s soul
Her emerald eyes said it all – the wishes, her yearning.
It was never too late, so her father’s words echoed – swirling in the breeze
And though she desperately wished to tuck away those icicles of teeth,
and menacing yet magnificent catty smile,
it was impossible to befriend little Tweety,
when all the birds scrambled into their nests of blue
So, it’s another gentle day, and this little Daughter of Chaos stalks her prey,
But turns around.
Instead, spotting a little golden pool of sun,
she bathes her tiger-stripes and velvet skin in the field of warmth,
and dozes off into a dream of her own
A dream of delicious rat tails, and deep-fried dove-feathers, saturated in the blood of a
mouse…After all, once a daughter of Chaos,
A Daughter of Chaos she will always be!
