Pawprint Poems

Autumn the tortoiseshell cat nursed three kittens, her glowing fur like autumn leaves on fire. Between her paws, the kittens were a picture postcard of stunning autumn leaf ginger. Born in late September, they breathed beauty like autumn leaves lilting in the wind.

A ginger kitten with wide grey and green eyes lying on a floor
Image by Ari_Bady from Pixabay

Ash, Rowan and Sycamore played among the leaves in the garden, autumn poetry in motion. Passersby would stop and stare, bewitched by the feline antics before them. Then at home they would sit still for a moment, inspiration like a cat’s paw patting their head. And words ran together like leaves lifting in the breeze. Little by little, the whole village were writing poems about autumn leaves.

Autumn’s owners were not immune. Jim and Sally sat together with notebooks in their hands and a storm of leaves inside. Poetry blew on the wind as the village beat to whispers of wonder.

Sally organised a poetry group, only to find her sitting room overrun such was the uptake. Everyone was writing poetry. Sally decided they would self-publish a collection. Autumn Leaves was ready by the end of the season.

As the kittens grew older and larger, the poetry did not stop, it only intensified. Leaves rustled underfoot as the villagers tried to sell their book of poetry. Meanwhile word spread like poetry seeds on the wind. People from all over the region came to the village, eager to pass the garden with the beautiful young cats, and to buy the book with its vibrant verses that bewitched the mind.

And little by little, the wider region began to write poetry. Letters to the editor of every local paper were filled with poems. Then the poetry reached the national papers too.

Sally set up a blog to celebrate autumn-themed poetry, complete with pictures of her growing kittens. Readers the world over were suddenly inspired to write poetry. And a renewed appreciation of autumn leaves painted its poem of hope everywhere, beauty turned to words that would last forever.

The kittens grew in to large and handsome cats. Everywhere they roamed, they spread wonder like a virus to vanquish sadness, a poem of purrs that would not be denied. And in their wake, stray autumn leaves danced like messengers from above. And the message was … poetry.

A love of poetry captured the hearts of the world. Everyone was writing poetry and even more were reading it. Poetry pamphlets became bestsellers, much to the astonishment of their authors. It was a revolution of the written word … and as poetry spread across the world, peace followed in its wake, like an autumn wish come true.

Three ginger cats played together in their garden, like autumn leaves they spun to music only they could hear. Their purr was a poem on the air, a ballet of beauty designed to delight. Whiskers and words intertwined to form autumn art. Like poems drifting on the wind, their nine lives were only just beginning … For when you find the perfect poem, it will never leave you. And autumn will arrive again, like a cat’s magic that lasts forever, the leaves of yesterday blowing to a tender tomorrow of dreams come true.

A ginger kitten with long white whiskers among leaves of a bush or tree
Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

Mystic Meows

By Rachel H Grant

A white whisker floated in the wind like a feline wish, blowing it knew not where, with a mission to whisper softly where it was needed most … a heart silently waiting.

The face of a black and white cat with white whiskers
Image by rachyt73 from Pixabay

The boy played in his back garden, the fairy house almost complete. Gently, a whisker landed on the tiny flint roof. Lewis laughed, feline fun in his eyes.

A black cat jumped on to the garden fence, its eyes sparkling like whiskers on fire. Lewis extended a shaking hand. The cat jumped down and ran to him, gently licking his hand. Lewis’ heart hiccupped. The fairy house was now surely blessed.

Several streets away, Malcolm sat motionless before his laptop, writer’s block hissing in his heart like an angry cat. Where was Sybil? With his black cat purring on his desk, the ideas would just flow like a feline waterfall of words.

Later that day, Sybil appeared again like a subconscious mind shadow. And ideas itched inside his brain. The novel needed a child character; he clearly pictured in his mind a little boy building a fairy house. He chuckled. Fairies it would be.

A year later, Malcolm’s hand reached for his cat, then realised that of course she was not there. It was his first book signing. He smiled and laughed, a strain in his heart and disbelief in his brain. He was here, he was published. Weeks ticked by like a clock in slow motion. Then the letters came. “You have written about my neighbour.” “Your book features my son.” “I recognise my grandmother.”

Disbelief lit in Malcolm’s heart, a candle of whispers in the night. Sybil, his inspiration … or just his village gossip? He called her name, anxious to look in her eyes and see if it were true. Did messages cross from her mind to his?

A black and white cat sitting on an open laptop
Image by Gerhild Klinkow from Pixabay

Sybil was not at home. The days passed like whiskers floating in the wind, and still she did not return. Malcolm mourned deep within, as words charged through the pages on his screen, little cats chasing birds, never catching them, never giving up …

Months turned to two years. Sybil was gone.

Then one day he found a novel on his doorstep, with a note on top: “I know where your cat is, from a feline-loving neighbour.”

Newly released “Black Cat Beauty” tickled his curiosity like a whisker dancing in his mind. The author biography explained that: “Ebony writes by day and turns in to a feline muse at night, her faithful black cat by her side.”

Malcolm began to read, astonishment piercing his heart like a cat crying in the night. The main character was none other than Martin, a middle aged man struggling to write with a black cat by his side. One day, the cat found a fairy house and made friends with a little boy. Martin wrote a children’s book about a boy and his fairy friends.

Not quite an exact fit – his fairy house featured as a mere aside in an adult village romance novel – however close enough. This writer was surely bewitched by his own feline word whisperer.

Two weeks later he stood unsure outside a famous bookshop in London. How to ask someone whether they own your cat? Only one way to find out …

Ebony was not what he expected. A crazy cat lady with straggling permed hair and a large cardigan … did not describe her at all. Long auburn hair, a glowing complexion and shining green eyes. His brain was bewitched … his heart hooked like a mouse in a cat’s jaw.

Stuttering, he tried to speak to her. “Cat … your cat … “ The words would not come, a writer’s tongue block, a poet’s paralysis in slow motion.

“Cat?” she repeated. “Yes Sable is my muse, a stray I adopted, or rather she found and adopted me, just turning up at my door one night. I wouldn’t be without her.”

So Malcolm shared a photo of his Sybil. The same eyes, an identical sleek coat … however black cats do look similar to each other. A meet up arranged, Sable ecstatically rubbed around Malcolm as he stood on the doorstep. Ownership proved, feline style.

Malcolm stared in to Sybil’s deep eyes and then looked up. Ebony was smiling in the doorway. “It looks like we co-own a cat!”

Malcolm and Ebony agreed to literally share the cat, month about. It seemed like a fair deal. As the months passed, the two writers became close. Poetic purrs tickled their hearts like a cat’s whisker inside.

Sybil purred by their side, silent secrets in her eyes. For a cat’s magic knows no words. Feline wonder embraced them. A cat’s whisker fell to the floor unseen. In the garden next door, a little boy played alone. A whisker fell to his feet. He laughed, picking it up. “This is a magic whisker,” he whispered to himself. The whisker was placed in his little box of favourite things. Decades later, a grown up author found his long lost box in the attic. “A whisker … ,” he laughed. As he held the whisker, ideas whispered in his mind like a cat’s purr. His fingers shook. It was time to write again …

So whiskers become words become books. Whiskers flying from mind to mind, feline tales lodging deep inside hearts. And like a whisker on the wind, whispers of cats long gone live on in the pages of tomorrow’s readers. Like a whisker in a box, words can last forever, echoing with black cat magic across an ebony eternity.

The face of a black cat with shining gold eyes against a black backdrop
Image by Михаил Прокопенко from Pixabay

Snowflake Kitten

By Rachel H Grant

The fire crackled like an old crone, welcoming Christmas like a long-lost friend.

A white kitten stretched out on the red rug, purring in a warm bath of bliss. Her new home was a Christmas dream come true. The runt of the litter, no one wanted her, until a small child’s hands picked her up and a tiny voice whispered, “This is all I want for Christmas.”

white kitten lying on its back with big amber eyes
Image by Pexels from Pixabay

On her third night in the new house, the first snowflakes of winter kissed the land. Luna looked out the window longingly. When the father arrived home, she shot out the front door like a snowball on attack. Christmas cheer lit her heart, as snow froze her feet. She ran and ran through the snowflakes, until she became lost.

Luna never saw the house again. Until twenty years later …

**

Harry and Hetty giggled as they played hide and seek in their new house. A bedroom each, stairs to chase each other down … and numerous corners to hide in. It was a Christmas wish come true.

Meanwhile, Mum finished decorating the tree. “Children! Come and see!” she called.

They surveyed a Christmas carol in frozen motion, a dream of delight purring in their head like a happy cat. Then Mum lit the fire, and they settled on the hearth to play Christmas card games.

They did not see the baubles move on the tree, as though a kitten were playing with them. They did not notice the kitten prints on the windows, as a stray soul regarded the snowflakes outside. Little did they know, that they were not alone.

Luna slept that night on Hetty’s bed. The child turned over in her sleep, instinctively moving a hand towards the tiny unseen indent on the duvet. Then sweet dreams of white Christmas kittens stirred in her soul.

Luna wandered the house unseen. She was back, with a new family. Her dream had come true. She was home.

“I would love a kitten for Christmas,” confided Hetty to her Dad. “It would be a Christmas wish in fur, it would make me so happy.”

“Santa doesn’t deliver kittens,” said Dad with a twinkle in his eye.

Christmas Day dawned like a new winter future, a herald to happier days.  Hetty and Harry ran down the stairs like racing horses on a track, magic misting their eyes. Then they saw her.

A white kitten.

“It looks like Santa does believe in kittens after all,” said Dad merrily.

The children played all day with the new arrival, happiness like moving shadows around them, while Luna the real shadow purred with quiet joy at a new friend. Klaus the kitten could see Luna, and telepathically talk with her. They were friends in no time.

That night, a large white cat appeared on the stairs, a red hat on her head. She found Klaus and her shadow Luna.

“I have come to take you to a new Christmas house,” she gently told Luna. “There is a new kitten here now and it is your time, a playful paradise awaits. Leave Klaus to the humans here, come with me now … “

Luna meowed silently. “I love it here. It is my home.”

“No, it is Klaus’ home. However there is a fireplace in my world just for you.”

So Luna quietly followed the white cat up the stairs, as a portal of white light opened above them. “It looks like a large snowflake,” thought Luna wistfully.

Then they were there, in a large house with a grand sitting-room, and a festive fire in ferocious glory. And there were other cats too … why, it was her mother and her siblings! Luna ran to greet them, a melting meow of love in her heart.

The large white cat silently left.

“Where are we?” asked Luna.

“We are in the land of feline dreams,” confided her mother. “We are in the happy ending that we all deserve. However, one day, if you choose, you can be born again and return. Or simply stay here … it is so nice, a dream of paradise that can never end.”

Luna rubbed around her mum, and curled in to her body as she fell asleep. And in her dreams, a hundred fireplaces burned, happy cats in front of them all.

However, the day came when she dreamt once more of the children in her old and real house. How she wished to return … snowflakes hung in her heart like a frozen dream waiting to melt.

A year later, Hetty and Harry again awoke on Christmas morning with excitement etched on their faces like indelible glee. They raced downstairs. Klaus met them, a knowing smile in his eyes. He ran to the front door, scratching frantically, maniac meows in his throat.

Harry laughed. “Ok Klaus, out you go.” He opened the door, staring in Christmas sparkled surprise.

A white kitten trembled in the snow. Harry swept her in to his arms, while the kitten purred, eyes shimmering with Christmas fire.

Hetty rushed up. “Another white kitten! It is my Christmas dream come true!”

Their parents did try to find the kitten’s home, but none emerged. “Let’s call her Snowflake,” said Hetty. “Because she has flown in to our lives like a snowflake from heaven.”

Little did they know, that the white kitten had lived before. Little did they know, that they were her Christmas wish come true. However somewhere in their hearts, the children did understand that cats have nine lives.

Hetty, Harry, Klaus and Snowflake became inseparable friends. As January blizzards battered the house, they lay by the fire, encased in the poem of purrs.

For every cat deserves a second chance, a new home that saves them from the cold. May all your Christmases be filled with the wonder and joy of a festive kitten, and may the purrs of happiness soothe your mind forever. And may all snowflakes find their way home.

Two white kittens sitting on wood, one is double the size of the other
Image by Veronica Kaiser from Pixabay

A Whisker in the Wind

By Rachel H Grant

Alison closed her eyes, another year over like a cat’s whisker floating afar in the wind. There would be no New Year celebration for her. Only two weeks ago, she lost her dear tabby cat Cherry, a road traffic accident not far from her house.

So tonight, Alison drifted to sleep with a cat whisker in her hand, memories murmuring deep within as sleep shushed her tears.

Purring pulsed through her body, interrupting deep dreams. Alison woke up, a nightmare retreating to its subconscious cave. 2024, a new year with no cat.

She could still hear the purring.

In confusion, she sat up and checked her phone. 28 November 3:30am it proclaimed. Alison rubbed her eyes. She must still be dreaming. Whiskers waltzed in her head, dreams in freefall.

The purring continued.

Alison opened her eyes. In the dim light, she saw her. A cat.

Turning on her bedside lamp, there she was in full tabby glory. Cherry, eyes dancing with feline fun. Alison smiled. What a lovely dream, a whisker caught in her mind, fluttering like a sweet bird, its song deep in her subconscious. Let this dream continue. Alison snuggled under the duvet, her hand on her cat, a hundred smiles lighting her heart like whiskers on fire.

The face of a tabby cat with green eyes and large white whiskers
Image by miezekieze from Pixabay

In the morning, her eyes opened and a secret smile played with her lips like a whisker stroking them.

What a lovely dream.

She checked her phone, and to her shock it proudly proclaimed 28 November 8:15am. Alison rubbed her eyes, a whisker scratching them with disbelief. Was she still dreaming? Was there something wrong with her phone?

Then the door moved as a cat entered her room, purring like there was no tomorrow.

It was Cherry.

Whiskers fell in her heart, as disbelief dissolved in the flames of delight.

It was true, it was Cherry.

And so Alison relived the last four weeks, whiskers whispering in her ears as her heart spun like a falling whisker.

She cherished every single moment, knowing that like a whisker this precious gift of relived time could float away, and be no more.

The days passed like whiskers in the wind. Then it was the day, the fierce fate day. So Alison shut the catflap and Cherry did not die in the road that day.

On New Year’s Eve, Alison retired to bed early, her fingers crossed like two whiskers, hoping against hope that Cherry would still be there in the morning.

Alison woke up in the night to the sound of purring. Whiskers played with her smile, as she drifted back to sleep. And like a whisker, her dreams floated in her mind, a whirlwind of whiskers and a treasure chest of new futures.

In the morning, she fed Cherry, disbelief finally vanquished.

It was a new day, a new year and new hope whispered in her heart like a whisker. She looked down at her hand, and was surprised to see a whisker there. Slowly, she placed the white whisker in her jewellery box. For dreams can die, but whiskers live forever.

The face of a tabby cat with large white whiskers
Image by Annette Meyer from Pixabay