TalesAndTails

Eight little ferals, playful and sweet,
Each with a name that makes them unique.

Tinks is curious, quick on her feet,
Ace is brave, with mischief to meet.

Theodore watches, so gentle and fair,
Shadowy whiskers belong to Bear.

Rocky is sturdy, he’s bold through and through,
Snowy-white MJ has mischief to do.

Bane is a rascal, with spark in his eyes,
While Stubby brings laughter with tiny surprise.

Together they tumble, together they play,
Eight little ferals, brightening each day.

Tinks whispers gently, “Tell us what you adore—
A memory, a moment, a dream to explore.”

Ace leans in closer, “Don’t be shy, take your chance,
Share the song in your soul, or the joy of a dance.”

Theodore smiles, “What warms up your days?
Write it in words, in your own special ways.”

Bear says with courage, “Your voice has its place,
The world needs your story, your love, and your grace.”

Rocky is playful: “Tell us things that inspire,
The sparks in your heart, the flames of desire.”

MJ nods kindly: “It’s your turn to be heard,
No tale is too small, no thought too absurd.”

Bane adds with promise: “We’ll listen, we’ll care—
Your treasures are precious, please choose to share.”

Stubby concludes, “So gather, dear friends,
Your writings, your passions, where heart never ends.
Together our voices will weave, line by line,
A chorus of love, both yours and mine.”

If you see me like this—
belly exposed, paws in the air,
looking far too cute to resist—
what would you do?

A tummy rub?
You know I’ll squirm and kick,
pretending I didn’t want it—
but secretly, I do.

A gentle kiss?
That’s even better.
I’ll blink at you slowly,
the way I say “you’re mine.”

Or maybe you’ll just laugh,
because I look ridiculous—
like a spilled bag of marshmallows
with whiskers.

I’m silly, I know.
But it’s how I tell you
that this place, this life,
is good with you in it.

So go on—rub, kiss, laugh—
any answer is the right one.
Because if you see me like this,
it means I’m happy,
and I want you close.

I’m snow-white silk with a hunter’s knack,
Today’s the day — I caught the black.
He slipped through shadows, smooth and sly,
But I was quicker, sharp and spry.

No more whispers, no more boasts,
I chase down legends, I catch the ghosts.
One green, one blue, my eyes don’t lie —
The black cat’s mine, and here’s the prize.

So spread the word from street to street,
The white cat rules, the hunt’s complete.
I wear the crown, no looking back —
The king who finally caught the black.

In a quiet chamber, lit by two trembling flames,
a silver tray holds relics with forgotten names.
The candles stand like sentinels, their wax tears slowly fall,
casting long and crooked shapes that stretch across the wall.

Between them rests a bottle, sealed and still with care,
its label speaks of distant sands, of sunlight, salt, and air.
Though far removed from ocean tides, the grains within still gleam,
as though they carry whispers from a half-remembered dream.

And there — upon the shadows’ edge, where silence folds in tight,
a pale cat curls with watchful eyes that shimmer in the night.
She does not stir, she does not speak, yet in her steady gaze,
the room is held in reverence, suspended in a daze.

The candles seem to answer her, their flames both bow and sway,
as though they know the guardian who keeps the dark at bay.
No shadow dares to steal the light, no echo dares to roam,
for where the pale cat chooses, the chamber feels like home.

So rest, while sands remember, and flames in silence glow —
the keeper of the candlelight will guard you as you go.

Can you sit like these two?
Bet your body shouts, “No, thank you!”
Legs out front, all neat and flat—
Somehow comfy if you’re a cat.

Try it once, you’ll tip and slide,
Your knees will flop to either side.
Your balance goes, you start to sway—
“Who even sits like this all day?!”

Cats just blink, like, “See? It’s easy.”
While you sit crooked, stiff, and queasy.
Kitties twist and fold, then stare right through—
No chance you'll sit like these two!

A grumpy cat snug in a blanket so bright,
Dreaming of tuna through most of the night.
One paw tucked in, the other at rest,
Clearly convinced that this spot is the best.

The quilt screams festive, but let’s be well-read—
A Christmas blanket? In a heatwave? On this bed?
A royal furball with a judgmental stare,
On this cozy throne, she's the boss of the lair.

Up on my perch, I sit and I stare,
the floor is my kingdom, the couch is my lair.

I watch every shadow, each rustle, each sound,
then strike like a hunter, my paws hit the ground.

It looks like I’m playing, but really I scheme—
the world is my toy, and I rule in my dreams.

yes
may I help you
or are you just here
to stare at me again
like I’m some sort of painting
that meows when hungry

you look a mess
I look flawless
we all have our roles

I see you haven’t mastered
basic grooming
yet here you are
taking pictures of me
like you’re the artist

yes
I’ll allow it
but only because
your cell camera
deserves at least one thing
worth looking at

Two little turtles kissing by a lake,
Daddy turtle walked up — oh, what a mistake!
He stretched out a claw, with a look so grim,
“Cut out the smooching, or you’ll answer to Mom!”

The lovebirds froze, shells pressed tight,
They’d been caught red-handed in broad daylight.
So if you’re a turtle and romance you seek,
Better check who’s watching from over the creek! 🐢💋

I fluttered down, wings swift and light,
The fountain called, so clear, so bright.
I reached the dish, I reached it first,
My tiny throat cried out for thirst.

I know she’s near, I feel her stare,
The other waits, she’s always there.
At any beat I’ll dash away,
If she should rise or block my stay.

One sip, two sips—I take my chance,
Glancing back with wary glance.
For statues don’t just sit so still,
Unless they hide a secret will.

The water ripples, cool and fair—
And then she moves! She’s really there!!!
Not stone, not bronze, no idle play,
A fairy came to drink today.

He pressed himself against the ground,
while stems and shadows wrapped him round.
His wide eye watched, his whiskers still, his body bent to earth’s own will.

We saw him there, yet made no sound,
let silence guard his chosen ground.
Our careful steps moved soft, aside,
so not to break the place he’d hide.

And as we passed, the moment stayed,
respect for the small life we weighed.
A hidden one, so near to us,
the trail belonged to him—not us.

A fluffy cat with eyes that gleam,
One gold, one blue — a perfect team.
She guards the house both day and night,
With judgment sharp and fur so white.

The sign proclaims what she already knew,
“All guests must be approved — it’s true!”
She sat there proudly, full of clout,
Deciding who gets in (or out).

I took the photo, thought I’d impressed,
But her stare said, “Hmm… you’re not on the guest list.” 😳