A new morning, the same routine to the car
The way work creeps into your life
From a few hours overtime to living to work
Your cats grow older and older each day
The plants become used to surviving alone
The house learns to live without your life
Poetry | Stories | Photography
A new morning, the same routine to the car
The way work creeps into your life
From a few hours overtime to living to work
Your cats grow older and older each day
The plants become used to surviving alone
The house learns to live without your life
Between human and ghost, the old one sits waiting for the inevitable.
A liminal being, he is already in a place unknown to the living ones.
His cats chirp and meow as if to say, “Hurry along, Dear. You might be tasty.”
He waits for the one who will not arrive.
the crinkling wrappers
cats meow in unison
an endless hunger
falling into a nightmare
reality overload
Rustling outside removed her from a nap.
Going to the door and looking outside, she stumbled upon a bag of seeds.
Keen to see them grow, she propagated the “Little Paws”.
After six months, meowing starts coming from the greenhouse; she runs outside to see kittens everywhere.
a bell rings in the distance
silence around the void
another bell begins to ring,
ring, ring, ring, ring, hiss
a peek from under the table
growling as the void arrives
a stand-off fit for cinema
the cats start getting uppity
ring, ring, ring, ring, meow
they retreat to hide all night
The clowder of British Shorthairs approach from the rear; they wait for the end lapping milk.
The Persian cats take a direct approach and enter from the front. They chew on beef bacon.
The Russian Blues maneuvered: radioactive temptations dropped from the air.
naughty sweet cupid
shooting off love filled arrows
hitting all the cats

Bleeding chaos through colour
seeing imaginary cats and dogs
hallucinating uncharacteristically
the stocking did move,
as the cats played
and meowed