On a heavy thought

This thought weighs heavily on my shoulder,
won’t be discouraged, comes as he pleases,
staring at me, as one dominant cat.
I didn’t invite him into my house.
He is the chip that won’t leave, won’t learn tricks.
When I sleep, he waits, green eyes in the dark.
But now I found a way to find peace:
Twice a day I feed him with poisoned mice.

Comments on: "On a heavy thought" (19)

  1. Please say it ain’t soooo 🙂

  2. Poor kitty cat.

  3. I adore cats (even metaphorical ones) but… just sometimes! 😉 Great post, Ina. Thanks for making me think.

    • Hi David,

      I share that adoration, cats are great 🙂 I wish I had one or two again.
      But this particular one wasn’t!

      Thank you very much 🙂

  4. I fear that feeding a metaphorical cat (male I notice!!) with metaphorical poisoned mice is only likely to make him even more bitter and twisted!!!


    • Hi David

      lol maybe, but he might die from it? Metaphorically.

      Arohanui 🙂


      • The only reason the cat here is male btw is because “it” always sounds weird to me when talking about a living creature, although I know it is correct English, and in the first version of the poem, it didn’t give the right rhythm or logic (I forgot what exactly lol). So I had to choose a gender and I decided for a boy 🙂 A big, mean, old cat with a long history of battle 🙂

  5. Ina,

    You are great with metaphors and this whole poem is a brilliant one!

    I just don’t want the cat (metaphorical or male!) to be poisened, although I totally understand that metaphorically it had to be!! 🙂 LOL 🙂

    Love and hugs xx

    • Hi Christine

      lol no I wouldn’t hurt a real cat, but believe me, this one needed to be killled 👿

      Thank you very much! 🙂

      Love and hugs! xx

  6. LOL Shame on me – I can’t spell poisoned!!! 🙂

  7. If the poisoned mice are eaten by the poisonous cat with green eyes, does A.E. Housman’s famous lines come back to haunt us:

    They put arsenic in his meat
    And stared aghast to watch him eat;
    They poured strychnine in his cup
    And shook to see him drink it up:
    They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:
    Them it was their poison hurt.
    —I tell the tale that I heard told.
    Mithridates, he died old.

    Sounds just like a big, mean, old cat with a long history of battle to me. I hope the cat’s name is not Mithridates.

    • Hi Thomas

      Thank you for sharing that poem. I once read a story or saw a play, can’t remember (‘Arsenic and old lace’ I think it was called) in which the person who was poisoned, benefitted from the arsenic and survided the attempted killer. 🙂

      The thought that was a chip on my shoulder, has become rather comateus btw 🙂 but is not dead yet.

      Thank you very much!

  8. I like this metaphor very much, Ina! I think it’s really effective and I like this poem very much. I may just have to buy some metaphorical poisoned mice…

  9. I love cats so much, and they are such a positive–perhaps the most positive–in my life that even as a poet myself I struggle with the metaphor of poisened mice.

    Yet, this is a wonderful description: ‘He is the chip that won’t leave, won’t learn tricks.
    When I sleep, he waits, green eyes in the dark.’

    But, I think, intellectually I understand what you are saying…

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