Cats Don’t Drink Tea

A poem

Paroma Sen
Literally Literary
Published in
Nov 23, 2020

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Whiskers tense
Pupils dilated
CONCENTRATION
One paw raised, quivering,
A delicious moment of anticipation,
As she decides whether to attack
Tasty prey under the blanket
And I watch the tiny predator’s every move
So I can withdraw my hand under the blanket
Just as she jumps, a complex algorithm
Crucial to save my hand
from being crucified again.

The baby predator proceeds to then
stretch out on my lap,
licking herself delightedly,
Pointy ears like a conductor’s baton
Rhythmically bathing her trusty socked paws
Blanket meal plans temporarily shelved.

All that to distract her from
my dandelion root tea, in which
she’s curiously interested.

Cats don’t drink tea, Shona, I say.
Cats don’t drink tea.

© Paroma Sen 2020

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Paroma Sen
Literally Literary

“Do not go gentle into that good night, but rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light.”