Post 40. An Ode to Shimba the She-Cat.

This Ode is dedicated to all females who have made my life more human and humane. I could not imagine a human world without its females.

An Ode to Shimba the Cat.
Shimba is just a cat, they say.
But family is Shimba to me,
now that my parents have left me
and gone to that Garden where
eternal youth and bliss
is said to reign by those who,
while making doubly sure
that they always desperately
try to miss, hypocritically,
the last and the next bus there
while always sadly and forlornly
at Sunday’s functions singing Psalms
the high praises extolling of it
and of how sadly they all miss it,
all the while keeping on making every effort,
humanly possible, to never get there
upon a multitude of apologetic claims
that they are more needed
down here than up there
by human love that is the ofspring
of that Divine One Above
which so decrees for them to be
moreover taking out cash-insurance about it.
Might your patience please forgive
the short digression
while amicably and together
a swift return to waiting Shimba
dear reader of mine we make.
I claim Shimba is my cat
but she thinks my mother to be
as she continuously and dutifully patrols
of her territory the perimeter
where the house is to which she came
and which she has known
since when a tiny, little,
of her lost mother and of the litter the loss, then,
of her whole known- world the loss complayning,
as a ‘miaowing’, hungry, cold and lonely pet.
Shimba is almost human now.
In fact, I reckon
she is a human cat.
Of her daily Menu she knows
in her vast knowledge of gourmetry
all entries by heart
and if I were to tell her
she is going to have,
say, meaty-meaty, to-day
she’d her eyes lift to me
mockingly, as if to say, quizzingly
" Which kind prithee? "
in her mute but
rather unmistakeable ways.
Oh yes, mistakes don’t you make
She knows of porky-porky
and of mincy-mincy
of which she is partial to
of beefy-beefy and lamby-lamby.
She gets all excited at the sound
of livy-livy and kiddy-kiddies.
She has also become
a classical music devotee
when with her tails movements
sitting on my lap
she signs her appreciation
for the most stirring
of Paganini’s violin music hits.
To her it must all sound
as if in cat-tongue a discourse
explaining all the types of mice and rats
caught in diabolical cattish traps.
I also sure have made
for Shimba to get
religiously educated as
of lord Krishna to her I narrate
the love he had for cows and cats
revealing to her, while hypocritically
preparing her adorable porky-porky,
that if she well behaved
in sparing pidgy-pidgies and birdie-birdies
in her lust for game
surely indeed
mighty Lord Krishna would
at her death change her
into a glamourous
all cleavages and curves fairy
of high repute a truly human bimba fair.
Yes, Shimba is unique
in both the world
of humans and of cats.
Shimba is also ‘bendy’
a word I have to use
in order to express her predilection
to wrap herself around or better still inside
the curved surface of a flower pot
that is large enough to accomodate
her matronly-like cat figure
minding of course with infinite and delicate care
the flowers or plants that inside the pot dwell.
In fact, I found that Shimba
is a great and passionate lover
of all herbs aromatic and medicinal
to which she olfactorily makes
offerings of love tender and sweet
during her daily patrols
in the bright sun.
Yes, Shimba is a wise old she-cat now
one could almost say
a philosopher among cats.
And I am almost sure that
my recently increased wisdom
otherwise unexplainable
is the result of some of her own
transmigratorily to my own transmitted
when laying as if dosing
in front of I writing away my thoughts
but with her littkle brain still ticking
and her eyes’ blinkers down
as if apparently closed
she gazes at me knowingly
all awhile transmitting away
her cattish thoughts and wisdom
to me whom she rehards as her own son.
Yes, Shimba knows the times
when to go out and when to return.
Walter my father used to say-:
" Shimba ia a whole Branch of Science,
whoever knows Shimba’s ways
knows the whole range of
the rather vast of Cats’ Science ,
a he woke up at 3 ocklock a.m.
to open for Shimba’s sake the front door".
I used to wantonly laugh and
think my father too old then, but,
now I am saddled with a second mother
and have become the servant
of a rather sophisticated and
gourmetising, spoiled, lovely,

loving and almost christian-like

She-Cat.