Pamela Douglas - Hyam The Cat Who Talked Too Much

Displayed a luxurious yawn.

A long jet black tail with a kink at the end

Uncurled in the early light.

And every inch of that sleek, smooth coat

Shook off the deep sleep of night.

The big round eyes, with their pupils bright,

Blinked twice at the sun's rude stare,

Then open they few, as well they might,

For another fine day was there.

Up stretched the four legs, thick-coated with fur,

Up arched the back in a hump,

And ready to enter a new day with joy,

He was out with a leap and a jump.

This was Hyam and this is his story...

“Have you ever thought?” said I.

“Thought about what?” said he.

“What it is like to be a travelled

Theatre cat like me.”

“ To be a cat like you?” said he.

“That's what I mean” said I.

“ To tell the truth, it might be fun,

To hear about the things you've done,

So tell me now,” said he.

And so I did,

And this is it,

The tale I told him then,

Of all the things that I had seen,

Of all the places where I'd been,

Of all the years that I had spent,

Along with my owner, wherever she went,

And then I wondered, glancing through,

Would you be interested too?

In this little tale I'm about to unfold,

I was, let me see, about ten weeks old.

It happened one October night,

I woke to find the room alight,

But not a single soul in sight.

Odd…

I looked about and over there,

Her dressing gown flung on a chair,

Familiar perfume filled the air.

So…

I wondered, was it very late,

Ten – or nine – or only eight?

Should I go or should I wait?

Which…

I took a jump down to the floor,

And suddenly, oh joy, I saw

That someone had not closed the door.

Out…

Along the passage quiet and dim,

Obeying an impulsive whim,

I crept, restraining every limb.

Wait…

Around the corner soft crept I,

Beneath the lamps erected high,

To give illusion of the sky.

There…

Behind the scenery I could see,

Lots of faces who would be,

Surprised and pleased at seeing me.

Look…

My owner there with make-up bright,

That I had watched applied that night,

Was sitting there just to the right.

Oh…

I thought she had not noticed me,

Or she'd have pulled me on her knee,

So I put forth a plaintive plea.

No…

I scarcely could believe my eyes,

She never does ignore my cries,

She looked away, I saw her rise.

Horror…

Am I here or still asleep?

I took one final desperate leap,

I crumpled in a shattered heap.

Terror…

Disillusioned, off I went,

With head held low, tail sadly bent,

For what had such behaviour meant?

Misery…

I scarce recall the arms that bore

Me back along the corridor,

Then closed and firmly locked the door.

A lesson.

I shall never forget the very first day,

I went out on a lead, a very short way.

Every few yards

I'd stop to chase

Every small leaf

A-whirl in space.

I would turn and I'd sit, I would pull and I'd cry,

I would clutch at the feet of all who passed by.

I would ignore

A stern command,

I would receive a reprimand.

A walk that had taken two minutes before,

With me on a lead, took ten minutes more.

That day it seemed

Was hard and sad,

This day I walk

And I am glad.

My mother was a Seal Point

So they say

All right

An open pot of powder

On a tray

That might

Persuade this inky coat just

For a day

Or night

To be my mother's image

Anyway

The sight

Of half a box of powder

Gone astray

How light

Too late, look at the carpet

There it lay

Not quite

The lot, enough to cover

Just half way

Off white

Discovered all too early

What a day

A plight

However to explain it

Or to pay

A slight

Apology for wasting

Perhaps I may

Be bright

And win her round by purring

As I lay

At night

All snug and clean once more and

All too gay

Incite

The old forgiveness for me

And I'll say

Despite

The mischief that I do it's

Only play

Goodnight.

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