bolt

This Christmas vacation with the family,
Like vacations tend to do,
Had a story of hilarity;
So I had to write it down for you.

The feral felines in the yard
Have had their peace disturbed.
It started with the kitty's curiosity,
And ended with the loudest meowing you have ever heard.

"I want a baby kitty.
They're so adorable and cute,"
You could hear the daughter saying,
And this is where The Idea came to fruit.

A laser shining out the window;
These cats had never seen such magic.
They pounced and scurried across the porch
In futile attempts to catch it.

The door was wide open to the air,
And to the threshold they would run,
But Momma hissed, "No further."
Until Bolt came to join in the fun.

At a year, he's existed very long.
There's not a thing he cannot catch.
He's reigned in tyranny over all,
And, so far, scraped by without a scratch.

But, at last, his day came,
Like all days must surely come.
He was far too caught up in chasing
To see where he had sprung.

Suddenly beneath his feet
Was not familiar porch and dirt,
But carpet and linoleum 
And People instead of birds.

In the panic of the moment
Bolt forgot the small red dot.
He forgot that the way back out,
And into the kitchen shot.

Up the doorjamb to the cupboards,
As the people dashed around
Screeching "things" and causing strife,
While jars and pans came crashing down.

Like a furry flash of lightning,
He escaped to a safe-ish spot
In the corner above the cupboard;
Where they could him reach not.

For awhile the family pondered
What to do and what to think.
Meanwhile, the non-house house cat
Just glowered and glared above the sink.

Then Mom ascended to save her dishes,
And Bolt, he hissed and spat,
But he would not budge from out his lurkem;
So Dad proclaimed, "Let's move that cat."

With some poking and some prodding
From the wrong side of a broom,
Bolt departed to the other side
Of the cupboards in the room.

A basket for cosmetic purposes
Was perched upon the shelf,
And in he slithered and there he crouched
In prime position to defend himself.

A forgotten pink cat crate
That for years had been untouched,
Now came in handy at the time
Of the buzzsaw in need of such.

So with Bolt inside the basket,
And the basket inside the cage,
He was gingerly lowered down
From among the remnants of his rage.

Now, it's safe to say, I think,
That Bolt lived up to his name.
He fled into the dark,
And never was the same.

-ck