Millicent, The Persian Cat

By Marian Glaser © May, 2002

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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.