HPN

Click Page 8

Poetry of Issue #7        Page 8

The Night of the Katzen

One year at the North Pole, the flu
took down most of St. Nick’s faithful crew;
all the reindeer and elves
and the Clauses themselves—
poor old Nick didn’t know what to do.

So while sick in their beds side by side,
he confided that they must decide
how he’d gather his strength
and rise up to full length
to prepare for his annual ride,

for there’s no pause for Claus when he’s ill,
and he couldn’t take meds or a pill;
he cannot afford,
once the toys are onboard,
using something that might numb his skill.

He felt sure he could still load his sleigh
without help, just like back in the day,
but their feverish brains
knew it took more than reins
for a hardy “Heave-Ho and Away!”

But for now, with the elves tucked away,
the cats all had free reign to play.
Climbing trees, batting toys
made for good girls and boys—
there was mayhem all night and all day.

And that’s when “The Great Aha!” came;
that fortuitous time in the game
when the end seems so near
you find courage, not fear,
and strike forth into fame or in flame.

But what could have brought him such hope
at time when his body said, “Nope”?
’Twas a loud jingling bell
as some ornaments fell
when the cats grabbed a long popcorn rope.

Have you ever tried leashing a cat?
It’s like trying to saddle a bat,
for they’d much rather snuggle
or have a good tuggle
then drop you on someone’s doormat.

It would take at least two or three dozen;
every mother, son, sister, and cousin.
(He’d forgo the pet rats;
they were just too ersatz.)
That Aha! kept his poor head a’buzzin.

They were house-cats, and most of them purred
when attention was what they preferred.
Although some stayed aloof,
others scratched with each hoof.
Frequent catnaps meant progress deferred.

But to form two or more in a line
was like putting grapes back on the vine,
or unbaking a cake,
or like staying awake
once you’ve finished the song, “Auld Lang Syne.”

Even herding them into a group
was like carving a statue from soup.
Very much like the notion
of painting the ocean,
or drawing a straight loop-de-loop.

And because Nick knows how to speak cat,
they would ask, “Am I pretty–or fat?”
or they’d tell some old jokes
that would bore young cat folks
or sing songs in their kitty chit-chat.

Far too kind to tie strings to their tails
or tie wings to their front legs as sails,
Nick is one of the kind
who proves genius of mind
over matter (let’s hope) still prevails.

So you wonder, just what did he do?
To be honest, I wish that I knew,
but they got the job done
long before twelve-o-one,
and he proved that his cats can fly, too.

In the end, I’ll admit that this story
doesn’t have some obscure allegory,
so there’s no use in gleaning
to find any meaning
but fun in this grand oratory.

And I hope, after bending your ear,
that you’ll share this with those who are near,
and with all who enjoy
their own young girl or boy
who resides in a heart full of cheer.


  Ken Gosse