The Cat Poem

Starting from the edge of the whisker, you press your hand up against her face.
The feline crunches her nose and draws her head back. But does not hiss.

You then pull at her tail and all she does is wrap her tail neatly, and evenly
close to her. Thus so you don't try again. But no. You grab for the tail anyways.

A whine howls from the back of her throat and her yellow tan eyes start to take
shape. What was once cute and harmless is now slit eyes and furrowed brows.

"Fool." You can read this on the whiskers and in the tail that is now lightly tapping
the desk in which she perches. You can hear her speak almost as if you're her.

But you are not her. You are not small and tampered with, played with, fussed
with. So how could you know what it is to be like if you yourself are not one.

The answer is simple and takes place in everyday life. If you are to understand
a cat or be a cat owner, it shall be. But if you are a bad owner, you're a bad owner.

There is no escaping certain aspects of life simply by messing with what you can
do. But try to think outside the litter-box. We are not all fools here child.

We are fools when we do not question. and we do not ask. But we are also fools
when we assume that we know everything when there's much to know.

SO. Why'd you touch my tail you idiot?