TibbleCat Tales :

Love’s Labours Aided

Arch your back to the DarkSky and pray to the Moon

And I shall sing you a sweet NightSong tune

Of my LadyFair’s striving to rise above

And the cat that helped her seek out her love.

Now we cats are a thing sages can’t do without

For they inspire perplexion and yet relax doubt.

Cats are the serfs of the Moon, don’t you know?

We understand how ghosts walk when our DarkLady glows.

The stare of a cat seems to encompass all,

While their presence yields plain cause to a crash in the hall

Or the creaking of doors in the still of the night

Which I’m told gives some humans a terrible fright.

Our minds are like MoonCasts, In and OutWards are we

The Selves of each CatMind should sum up to three

The FrontSelf, the Right and the Left have their say

And without cease the voices confer night and day.

So a cat may sit blinking, or stare at a tree

While within he’s reciting a three part melody.

A feline tribunal holds court on the facts

Ere the youngest of kittens might pounce on a rat.

Now our story,

YoungMistress, who kept us secure

And fed SweetMilk and Fishes, and stroked at our fur

Never suspected we heard her shy sighs

Or took any interest in her LateNight sad cries

But we witnessed her loneliness, that’s TibbleCat, esquire

(That’s what she called Us, though Markophelese by Sire)

Now there’s many a cat who has abetted Love

Like that PussInBoots feline (Or was it Cat’nGlove?)

Her smile, it is true, was a beautiful thing

Her laugh was as sweet as the MornMilk jug’s ring.

But while a Mistress contented is never excelled

A mistress that’s vexed would leave a Manx quelled

So, as I have said, my Lady waxed wrathful

For her soft heart, it seemed, was getting quite crack-full

Little could We hope to serve in its filling

We needed a young swain, if any were willing.

And in truth there were many, for OurLady was fair

Yes indeed, rest assured that her suitors weren’t rare

But though many claimed affection, t’was a far rarer thing

To find a YoungSwain who might make echoes ring.

So we bided our time as Our Mistress was stewing

Til certain the problem called for CatConstruing

And then We deemed proper to take to the task

Seeking a lad fit with good form and fine mask

But the finest had failed for Our Lady looked deeper

Than most of these over-tall, CuboardKey keepers.

Indeed for a human she’d have made a fine cat

From the way that she thought to the way that she sat.

So we thought and decided, my InSelves and I,

That a cat-to-go-courting might in this case apply.

We thought to go searching in the alleys and streets

Where it seems that these humans oft walks, talks and meets

We sought to go hunting, but the ScreenDoor said “No,”

Mistress feared that we’d lose Us if allowed to go

So, thoughtful, we watched from the doorway to spy

If a likeable candidates might happen by

And a few of them might have, we couldn’t be sure,

For it’s hard to spot feline-ishness from the curb

When confined behind screen doors, too far removed

But we think a few passed of whom we approved.

But none happened in. Not even to visit!

For a human’s not known for its openness, is it?

But we kept a good look-out from up on the porch

And when one happened by we’d let out a “Scrorch!”

But alas, for all her fine qualities and such

My mistress didn’t seem to understand much

“No, no! darling Tibble, you’re not going out!

I’m afeared that a truck might squish all your Ins out.”

But finally a day came when one of our choices

Came up on the porch and made DoorOpen noises

And there on the threshold (not much to look at)

But the right kind of lad We’d choose Our LadyCat.

Indeed it was for Us the young swain’d been sent

To guard our well-being and see us content.

The friend of a friend to look after SireCat

In His right NobleHousehold where he needed Cat-sat.

Our Lady was out but We knew she’d be back

He filled up Our FoodBowl--We pick a good chap!

The very next evening he sought Us again

And We kept him distracted till Our Mistress came in.

They hit it off smashing. I hopped in her lap

And he crossed the room to give Our Noggin a tap.

“Keep ‘em close as a rule” is the CatLaw of Wooing,

Everything else is their Destinies’ doing

He smiled and she blushed, We mewed “We condone.”
They rose to go out. “Now for a CatChaperone,”

We thought. But “No, Tibble!” and she left with the knave

Yet he seemed cat enough, so We knew he’d behave.

Late that night We sat listening, considering OutNoises,

Like “Which thump was which?” and myriad NightVoices.

She came home at last and seemed to be floating

And forgetting, refed us though our bowl was overflowing.

Some days now they’ve played, with their comings and goings

And whether t’will work, in faith there’s no knowing.

But at least now my mistress may look on a swain

Whose OutLooks on life are largely the same

For We think that CatPeoples have similar brains

Their InWards are similar, two halves of a twain.

But for now We can only “M’row” a slow tune

And consign the rest to the care of the Moon

We’ve done what we could, it’s left to Her doing

We’re a Tom, afterall, not a wit’s care for wooing!

So Our tale for now’s ended, how We sought to aid Love

And lent our black paw to OurLady Above

And if you’re not satisfied I’ll curl up at your feet

Or just as well dance in the alleys and streets

For a cat’s life is simple and pure as can be

And We’ll dance ‘neath the DarkMoon

for as long as we’re free.

Back to Rogue's Gallery

©1999 Nathan Barnett