A Poem For Lily The Cat

by Emily Lee
(Toronto. ON)

Lilly,

who has wide, dark eyes,
who is fluffy, soft, and large,
whose fats is well hidden by her golden brown fur,
whose face is size of a baseball, but body like a giant mountain you can climb,
whose tail is thick as a baseball bat,
who is 7.5kg, fat, and heavy,
who is afraid to go outside, but loves to look out through a window,
who flips out at the sound of a vacuum cleaner,
who is a great friend of a rabbit,
who likes corn, dried squid, and Subway's sandwich bread,
who enjoys playing hide and seek,
who gets excited at the presence of a bird,
who jumps to a higher place, but comes down immediately at the sound of a snack bag.

I hug, pat, and carry,
my baby, my roommate, my companion,
There was a time when I carried her in my arms and went outside,
a man came and asked, "What kind of dog is that?"
and I answered, "It's not a dog, it's a cat."
There was another time when I took her to a park,
and a woman said to her dog, "She is even bigger than you."
And there was another time when she was getting ready to fly to Toronto,
the lady at the check-in counter informed me, "Your dog is all set to go,"
and I assured her, "She is not a dog, she is a cat."
This is a poem for Lilly, who is not a dog, but a cat.
Lilly, who has been a cat for her whole life, and is still a cat.

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