If only I had something new,
she thought, something adventurous
to do, like when the fields grew tall,
fields from which wild fowl fed and flew;
she, feline feisty and precious,
needed something or to climb the wall.
She walked over to the window pane
and looked out to the neighbouring homes
to where she hoped to find something
—something new, beyond the back lane,
rocky road, where she’d often roam,
to where her eyes would be wandering.
And when her attention was caught
by the towering shingled roof
sheltering the large corner store,
she at once decided she ought
to climb to its black peak as proof
of her worth to those who did her adore.
Through the yards one-by-one she went,
glancing around this-and-that corner,
over-then-under fences tall
till she stood at the wall she’d meant
to conquer, as a foreigner,
without any fear that she’d fall.
She looked to the two garbage cans
leaning against the wooden shed,
right next to the store that was so pink;
up she jumped, her feet and hands
reached the top by but a thread,
of no better place could she think.
Having achieved her noteworthy climb,
she gazed over to the swaying trees,
unaware that her hostess stood near;
at the bus stop, as passed the time,
the woman looked up, into the breeze,
and saw her pet feline who knew no fear.
Thus the feline had done something new
and not seeing her hostess’s stare,
she returned home fulfilled and content,
for from this day excitement she drew
and she thought again she’d climb and dare
those high places worthy of her scent.
Frank Sterle Jr