Millicent, The Persian Cat
By Marian Glaser © May, 2002
Millicent, the Persian cat,
embellished her already flowered hat
with another bunch of roses.
Unscented, they would pass by both dogs’ noses.
Her friend Bernhard, the purple rat
who’d tried a back flip on a wire above a dye vat,
had sent her this invitation card.
Sneaking out unnoticed shouldn’t be hard.
She’d drink milk and eat cheese-straws,
licking the crumbs off her paws.
She’d stroll past the dogs and out her cat-door
which she’d used often before.
She’d carry her hat in her mouth as if it was her ball
and she wanted to play after answering nature’s call
or she could pretend it was a mouse
that she’d caught, killed and was busy taking out of the house.
That should turn those Dalmatians’ black spots blue
and pay them back too
for chasing her and keeping her on top of the fridge
while their humans were playing bridge.
They’d been angry at them when they’d found her
crouched, spitting cat curses and with upended fur.
They’d find her gone, blame them
and when she sauntered in, treat her like a refound gem.