The Crazy Cat Lady

I am not crazy

I spat

as I stroked the head of 

Sir Bartholo Mew the III

Goeff Stewarts sits at my feet and

gouges craters in my 

rocking chair

I name all my cats as if they are

the prestigious bourgeoisie that come from

blood money

My apartment is in shambles

the torn upholstery bleached from 

                                     many years in the sun

I keep the windows open but only a bit as to not let 

my precious cats outside

the curtains hung in pieces                

courtesy of sir Bartholo Mew

But who needs to keep up appearances

when no one is here to see?

I do not miss the company of 

humans

                           nor did I ever enjoy it 

what are they if not 

judgmental

shallow and 

ignorant?

I am not crazy

A human’s love is conditional 

I love you, but your looks may not fade

I love you, but you must provide for me

I love you but you must obey me

                     I love you, but…

A cat’s love is, on the other hand, quite unconditional

they ask of you only to feed them

a simple, undaunting demand

In the folds of time, I no longer

see myself shrouded in ridicule brought on by others

who are they to tell me what I must be?

my life is simply a reflection of nothingness i decide to turn into

something

So why must I be?

I’m not sure… for my cats I suppose

for the sun that warms my otherwise frigid apartment 

for nothing else I think

time plainly passes me by 

the unadorned, inexplicable nature of time

thought to be taken for granted, and yet, meaningless

Many ask me why I stay.. are you insane they question

       ….arguably, yes but

in response, i say absolutely nothing

but myself, I know

I enjoy the soft meows and 

simple company 

in the place of human voices

and the meaningless existence outside my apartment