TalesAndTails

One peeks out with a curious stare,
The other’s stitched in a permanent glare.
One can pounce, or scamper, or hide,
The other stays still, though always with pride.

Perhaps the soft one dreams of such grace,
Or maybe the still one envies that face.
One speaks in mews, the other in thread,
Yet both share the warmth of the same cozy bed.

So which one wishes, and which one is free?
Well… that’s for the reader, not me, to see.

Oh human, you think you can dream so deep,
But I’m the master of perfect sleep.
I curl up tight on this patterned bed,
And let soft clouds fill up my head.

My nose is pink, my whiskers still,
The sun beams down—it’s a warm, sweet thrill.
The world can wait, I’ve got no plan,
Just chasing fish in my dreamland.

Your eyelids flutter, you toss and you turn,
But I’ve got tricks you’ll never learn.
With one slow sigh, the day drifts away—
I could nap like this all day.

So hush, no noise, don’t make a peep,
For none can match my artful sleep.

You may be tired, but can’t you see?
No one sleeps as good as me!

On a bed with snowflake flair,
Two cool cats were lounging there.
Up front sat Sir Whisker McHat,
In a black cap—yes, imagine that!

His eyes shone bright, his fur a glow,
A Siamese with style to show.
Behind him lounged his partner, Patch,
A dapper gent with fur to match.

Sir Whisker said, “We rule this land,
With mighty paws and hats so grand.
I guard the snacks, I guard the door,
I’ll chase the red dot—never ignore!”

Patch just smirked, with half-closed eyes,
“Your rhymes are bold, but no surprise.
I’m king of naps, the dreamland knight,
I snooze all day, then play at night.”

Together they were quite the pair,
One full of swagger, one full of flair.
A team of charm, both quick and sly,
Two furry legends—meow and goodbye!

In the realm of quiet rooms and sunlit windows, Ginnie reigns. Her paws, tipped in white, tread softly, yet every step carries the weight of command.

Her gaze is not for the faint of heart. It will measure you, weigh your soul, and pass judgment on the next fifty souls who dare stand behind you. And still, it will linger, as if deciding whether to let you remain in her presence.

Those she chooses are guarded fiercely. Her love is not requested — it is granted, and when it is, it surrounds you like stone walls and warm light.

To be loved by Ginnie is to be claimed forever, for she is not merely a cat — she is the watchful keeper of her kingdom, and her story is one you do not leave once you enter.

I found your scent and made my bed
Where yesterday still softly spread.
Your clothes, not clean, but full of you—
The things you’ve touched, the life you do.

I curled inside the warmth you leave,
A small and silent way to grieve.
Not sadness, no—just something deep,
That draws me here to dream and sleep.

You pass me by, you smile, you stay,
And let me steal the weight of the day.
You do not move me, though you could—
You understand. You’ve understood.

I hear the world, but I don’t wake.
Not when there’s nothing here to take.
I have what matters. I am known.
I’ve found your heart. I’ve made it home.

One eye gold, the other sky,
What do you see as time slips by?
Do worlds unfold that I can't name,
In shadow's hush or candle flame?

You do not speak, you do not stray—
But still, I feel you see the way.

White cat lies where silence grows,
In morning’s threadbare, woven rows.
A whisper caught in fur and grace,
The hush of thought upon her face.

She does not doze. She does not stir.
The room adjusts itself to her.
Pillowed flanks and patterned throne,
Still as marble, soft as bone.

Behind her, shadows stitched in black—
Twin cats that never blink or track.
But she is real: a breath, a flame,
A thing too present to have a name.

She watches not with fear, but right—
As if the world obeys her sight.
No need to hunt, no need to flee—
The moment bends to her decree.

Cat hair on my breakfast plate,
Cat hair on my best friend's date!
Cat hair on my brand-new chair—
Cat hair, cat hair, EVERYWHERE!

Cat hair in my morning joe,
Cat hair where my socks should go.
Cat hair in my Sunday stew,
Cat hair in my shampoo too!

I brushed and scrubbed, I swept and sprayed,
I vacuumed till the carpet frayed!
But still it floats, it flits, it flies,
It sneaks into my apple pies.

“Good kitty,” I beg, “just shed no more!”
The cat just yawns upon the floor.
With a twitch of her tail and a smug little stare,
She leaves me more…
Cat hair, cat hair, EVERYWHERE!

Sometimes, something small in the backyard can stop you in your tracks.

My wife grows straw flowers—those bright, crisp blooms that somehow look like they were made of sunshine and paper. They don’t wilt like other flowers. When you cut them and hang them to dry, they keep their color, their shape, their presence. Even time seems to step back and let them be.

And I realized something the other day.

That’s her.

She still calls me darling after all these years. She keeps our home going, keeps the cats fed and spoiled, and somehow moves through each day with this quiet grace that doesn’t ask for credit.

The flowers she grows are beautiful. But they’re only echoes of the woman who planted them. The real miracle is her.

So if you see someone growing something beautiful in their yard—maybe it’s more than a garden. Maybe it’s love that knows how to last.

Love ya babe! ❤️

Welcome! Here's a quick one to start the community!

White cat sleeps in quiet light,
Blanket warm and moon just right.
Black cat watches, always near-
In his dreams or curled ear to ear.

Soft as stars and brave as flame,
Guardian shadow, without name.
Sleep, sweet snow, no need to roam.
Your angel's here to guide you home.