El Gato Fuerte

Ode to Bill

2010-07-28T08:29:00.000-07:00

Famous for decades
Graceless hairball hacker
Smoking himself pencil-thin
To less resemble another cat
Comical, orange and striped

Heavy drinking, drug abusing
Dubuque Iowa native
National Radical Meadow Party
One-term mayor of Bloom County
Made more raspberries than any other cat

Translator's Note: Dima and I found out together that a house in Iowa City was used as a model for a house and the city itself was a model for the comic strip Bloom County. Dima didn't know about the famous comic strip since it was before his time. When he learned that one of the major characters was Bill the Cat, he was quick to write over 40 verses of poetry about it. Because it was quickly written, it's not all the impressive. What you have read is 2 of the less appalling verses.

Exploited Ancestry

2010-07-15T11:03:00.000-07:00

His name was not Morris
A pseudonym shackled to a once magnanimous cat
Human industry chiseled away
Television commercial after television commercial
Until all that remains was a ghost
Attached forever to a can of slaughterhouse byproduct
And when his soul was about to be freed
It was dragged back down by the purveyors of the new media
A terse human comedy is a tense feline tragedy
Feast your eyes, my fellow cats, on what humanity has done to our beloved friends:

Translator's Note: Dima discovered YouTube!

A Cadre of Milksops

2010-07-15T10:47:00.000-07:00

contentment tortures brilliance:
ants in a well grow moody in the light
after falling into the ashes
moving one's arms until the horror is beaten
will you need them or love them?
the exit bids farewell to itself

the fruit of oblivion gathers dew
and the smell of souls is cold
breathing them in delivers quiet
interrupted by the murmuring tea
dreams of adventure are censured
disavow sleep to forget life's rhapsody

Translator's Note: I thought Dima was heavy when sits in my lap, but this poem is heavier than his bodily mass. Until now, I thought he was feigning depression, but perhaps I'll have to do something to cheer him up or submit him to a psychiatric clinic.

Peanut Butter Bird

2010-07-13T10:15:00.000-07:00

I heard the peanut butter bird
Up on Wabash and Third
It spoke a sticky word

That word stuck in my ear
To stay throughout the year
It's there to stay, I fear

I ate the peanut butter fish
Found itself in my dish
Tasted like black licorice

That taste is called anise
From a Baghdad palace
Lacking any malice

The peanut butter bird and fish
Left this world with a wish
This poem is it's niche

Translator's Note: Dima has never eaten peanut butter, so his imagination runs wild with the thought of animals made of peanut butter.

Never Before

2010-06-30T06:52:00.000-07:00

Talk is cheaper than a meow
Ask me to speak
I don't know how

Those daily comics have never made me laugh
A caricature of one's beloved pet
Talking in a disposable paper is humanity's gaffe

Translator's note: Dima finally had the opportunity to read a Garfield comic strip, and he did not like it. I have to dig through the Garfield archives to see if he ever penned a poem. Perhaps that will impress him.

Essen

2010-06-14T11:09:00.000-07:00

He's always got a jar of mustard in his car

I think he's taking food emergencies too far

He said he found a hot dog in Vegas

Its flavor is something that'll save us

She's stuffing the sausages with inedible snails

She got the recipe from a book of tall tales

I don't think she'll get the nerve to serve them

Everybody she knows doesn't deserve them

Translator's Note: This is Dima's commentary on German food. I don't think he's referring to his owners who like mustard and sausage. Perhaps German food in this poem is a metaphor for awkward social encounters.

Plastic Lasts Forever

2009-11-09T08:25:00.000-08:00

Little bits of plastic
In the shape of people
Are scattered around me
Their faces full of glee

A cat among toy dolls
Can leisure contently
If only real people
Would spend their life like this

Translator's Note: I believe his photo does a better job than the poem to display his disgust with "real" people. He's been a sour puss for a few months.

Cat In the Corn

2009-10-17T18:40:00.000-07:00

If you build it, a river will wash it away
If you want to rebuild it, a crisis will delay it

They used to all drink down the syrup
And now they prefer to put it in their cars

One company patents a multipurpose bean
One bean arouses the emotions of millions

There is a farmhouse with its miserable couple
And now here I am, the new cat in the corn

Translator's Note: Obvious thoughts on and impressions of Iowa.

Breezes

2009-05-21T16:19:00.001-07:00

She sneezes
as she pleases
on colby cheeses.

Translator's note: I just don't know.

The Martians

2009-05-19T04:56:00.000-07:00

The martians
They are made of wood
The martians
They have been here for a while
The martians
They will be leaving us shortly

The martians
They are the trees
The martians
They have observed us enough
The martians
They won't be discovered on Mars

The martians
They are dying
The martians
They have been slashed and burned
The martians
They know this is the next red planet

Translator's Note: This is an interesting concept, but I wish Dima used a bit more subtlety to get his message across. The second verse spells it out too clearly that my mind nearly turned off.

Colette

2009-05-16T09:57:00.001-07:00

"Our lust belongings"
Willy's Claudine
Scandal at the Moulin Rouge

Daughter neglected
Stepson tempted

Maurice Ravel and Jean Cocteau
Cocottes and gigolos
Silk pyjamas and Lea's pearls

Translator's Note: Dima was inspired by Colette, who was not only famous for her writing and feminine sexuality, but also for her love for cats. Her famous quotes were "Time with cats is never wasted," and "There are no ordinary cats." Here's Dima's poetry to prove her second point.

Protector of Matrilineality

2009-05-09T07:58:00.000-07:00

Heaven made me a manly cat
And hell hath given me my animus
Earth has known my gracious style
Earth has seen my vicious smile

The mice that I have eaten
The birds that I have beaten
Have died to return again
To spread the word of my shining pride

"His eyes, they glow of wisdom
His ears are beacons to the forlorn
His claws protect the weak kittens
His teeth have torn and shorn"

I am the modern Maahes,
"He who is true beside her"
I am sworn to protect the autumn
And all her maternal ancestors

Mothers who have passed from this plane
Shall have their names in this world remain
Maahes has declared war on those who dishonor
the mothers of present and past
They shall meet their end at last

Translator's Note: This is Dima's egotistic way of celebrating Mother's Day. He was delighted to find out that Maahes, son of the Egyptian goddess Bast, was a lion who protected his mother, and thus was known to be a warrior-son. Dima likes to think of himself as our warrior-son and protector of his human sister, Autumn.

Sunshine

2009-01-19T08:03:00.000-08:00

Stirring bliss around a sphere
Making clouds disappear
Yes, that's what the sunshine does

Translator's Note: Dima is pining for the sunshine, which is severely limited this winter. This is a non-traditional haiku; a commercial for the sunshine.

Victorian Cat Poetry

2009-01-14T05:17:00.000-08:00

I wandered lonely as a cat
That floats on high o'er vales and hills
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of golden tabby cats

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert...
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of cats
Look on my whiskers, mice and birds, and despair
I'm the most gifted cat you'll ever see
The cats of old weren't half as bold
And cunningly cute and talented as me."

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though a Rottweiler I'd seen
An odious greasy dog
With shiny fangs and white frothing drool
I seem to feel its cruel jaws
Crunch! Crunch! There go my legs
Snap! Snap! My torso too
My head's in a twain
There goes my brain
Swallow! Swallow! The cat is no more.

Translator's Note: You would think Dima was inspired by the real Victorian poets of William Wordsworth, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and John Keats. However his inspiration came while he was sitting on my lap watching an episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus called "Michael Ellis." Below is the sketch that Dima ripped off.

Old English

2009-01-13T06:18:00.000-08:00

Fetisly purren
Meows withalle
Statlich catt
Pitous catt
Me thinketh daintee
The catts and kittener
To liven in delit
Was evere his wone

Translator's Note: Dima was investigating the history of the English language and cat language and found that they once belonged to the same linguistic group over 3000 years ago. According to Dima's research cats and humans once spoke the same language in the regions of lower Germany. He also claims that the vikings spoke this language into the modern era.

Mr. Spacecat

2009-01-11T08:36:00.000-08:00

Woke up this afternoon with a light in my eyes
And then realized it was snowing outside
Then I saw a new toy on the floor
I didn't know who it was for

Must be that baby that wakes up every night
Those hungry cries have put all the cats uptight
She's got a blue-green saucer that glows in the dark
I hope this will help her sleep all right

Hey, I'm Mr. Spacecat
I'd like to take you along
I won't do anything wrong
Hey, I'm Mr. Spacecat
I'd like to take you along for a ride

After spinning around, I was feeling quite weird
It was what I had feared, my cat food was smeared
All over the window, the baby had written my name
Said, never take a ride in my saucer again

Hey, I'm Mr. Spacecat
I wish I could take you along
But I did something wrong
Hey, I'm Mr. Spacecat
I wish I could take you along for a ride

Translator's Note: I thought it was a bit funny that the cat was inspired by the Byrds. Actually, our baby is too young to take a spin on that saucer. I don't know how she communicated to Dima that he is no longer allowed on it.

The Laws of Claws

2009-01-06T11:11:00.000-08:00

Sacred is the word of cats

That it shall not be written

Our fangs our sealed

Our tails swoop low

When it comes to truth

Subtle is the law of cats

That it shall not be shared

Our eyes follow

Our paws pounce

Our claws dig into the meat of the unjust

Translator's Note: Apparently the reason Dima hasn't written a poem for months wasn't that there's a new baby in the house. He recently joined a cat cult where he had to refrain from doing his favorite thing (besides eating and sleeping) for 3 months as an initiation rite. The good news is that they let him in. This poem is evidence of the brainwashing going on. I'm fine as long as the cult doesn't involve murdering one's providers.

Nursery Rhyme

2008-10-04T08:37:00.000-07:00

Cecilia and Kostya
Went up the coulee
To see the autumn leaves
Kostya saw Rudy's and wanted a root beer float
But Cecilia wanted to go on a riverboat

Translator's Note: Dima did not write this poem. It was actually written by Autumn Slagoski and her father just a day after she was born. Dima wanted to feature this poem to celebrate her birth. The inspiration is obviously "Jack and Jill," and it uses the first three names of the newborn--Autumn Cecilia Coulee. Rudy's is a drive-in restaurant in La Crosse. It is famous for its root beer floats.

The King of Caves

2008-09-21T08:26:00.000-07:00

Call the chaser of laser lights,
The slender one, and let him scratch
On the corrugated cardboard box in the corner.
Let the expected slouch in maternity dress
As she has become used to wearing,
And bid the husband her bulging stomach.
Let the grocery bag fall to the floor.
The only king is the king of caves.

Take from the nursery in waiting.
Lacking the most important guest of all, that sheet
Of which is made from softest fleece and place it
Over the swollen legs that beg for scratching.
If more baby blankets balloon, they show
How easy they become tunnels worth exploration.
Let the paper bag sit on its side.
The only king is the king of caves.

Translator's Note: Dima felt like the stealthy caves when this picture was taken. While sitting in that paper bag, he recited "Sunday Morning" and "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens. I asked him if he knew "The Emperor of Ice-Cream," and he said he didn't. I told him that it was a poem I had to analyze in college. He called for me to recite the poem, and instantly he was inspired. Here is his homage.

Where Are You Going?

2008-08-30T07:13:00.001-07:00

Is today the day?
Are you off to great places?
Are you off and away?

Let me tell you that I have brains in my head.
And although you have feet in your shoes,
I can also steer myself in any direction I choose.
Are you leaving without me? Say it isn't so.
Who are you to decide where to go?

Please take me, Dima your cat
I know the best places are where I'm at
You shouldn't be without a cat at your side
Your life will be better with me as your guide

But if you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
But if you're with cat, you'll be traveling in style
You discover that coming with me was really worthwhile

Without me, you'll get confused, as you already know.
You'll be surrounded by mice, fish, and birds as you go.
So be sure when you step, step with care and a great cat,
And remember all those things I chase away just like that!

And will we succeed?
Yes! We will, indeed!
With Dima, you're 100% guaranteed.

So if you decide to go without me,
Remember that you're better off not going at all.
Because traveling without your cat
Will be your greatest fall.

Translator's Note: Dima had been writing draft after draft of this poem after Jenevieve took off for Maryland for 3 weeks this summer. He doesn't like any of us going out on our own, which is contrary to the Dr. Seuss book "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" He turned Dr. Seuss' words around to suit his own purpose. It's a bit convincing, I think.

The Giggling Plateaus of Zumgl

2008-08-13T10:50:00.000-07:00

Your gorilla passed down the entryway
Fastidious herbivores cooking in the kitchen
Velvet milk with astral feathers
Teaspoon rollers in a half-winged pompous flight
Bocce jars and ice-cube liars swiping colors
Weighty ocular sheepskin diary juicers
A bat-winged chimpanzee swallowed spider resin after giblets
Penny igloos for the ones who might just be on time capsules
Roaches and windy bags of fear shall shut the muffin hut
Porcelain idols leaked upon the brass foam encountering a liaison
A disabled athlete’s finger and toe collection for a bush the size of a tree
Mortgage clipping swept away by the jester’s pretty city
Beware of the pockets of drool and despair, my ogre
Could a screwdriver agree to any hand-me-down trade?

Translator's Note: Dima is dabbling in surrealist poetry. Is it strange enough for you? It's certainly interesting coming from a cat, a surreal situation in itself. It was even Dima's idea to have this picture to intensify the surrealism. No, he's had no overdose on catnip.

Love Poems

2008-08-06T18:08:00.000-07:00

Some cats are black
And some cats are gray
But you're the most beautiful cat
That I have seen all day

Some cats are striped
And some cats are solid
But you are the cat
Whose purrs have to be followed

Some cats are yellow
And some cats are white
I don't care what they say
But you're a cute cat who's out of sight

Some cats have claws
And some cats don't
Most cats leave their lovers
But, I'm telling you now, this one won't

Some cats are neutered
And other cats are spayed
Although we can't have kittens
(the last line has been censored by the translator)

Translator's Note: Dima came by telling me that he'd written a few poems inspired from the old "Roses Are Red" routine. I asked him to read me one, and I thought it sounded cute and endearing. So I started to translate them on his blog. And then suddenly, he's reading the last line of the fifth poem and I say, "Whoa!" Where did that come from?

Dima's usually a sweet and harmless cat, and that's the image I want him to keep on this blog. But we also must be reminded that cats are animals. And all animals have their urges. I guess life's not as easy for him as I thought it was.

Baby On Board

2008-07-23T15:20:00.000-07:00

Cute and cuddly:
Traits soon to be shared
With the proudly anticipated
Autumn daughter

Love and affection:
Emotions soon to be split
Between a favorite cat
And the wildly expected child

Clean and quiet:
Attributes only I can claim
A litter box instead of endless diapers
A soft meow instead of a demanding cry

Baby on board:
The parents are eagerly waiting
But I am reluctantly patient
Nevertheless the cat is on board as well

The Red Chair

2008-07-17T17:35:00.000-07:00

Unoccupied temptress
Spinster!
Swiveling scratch-pad
Stoic!
Dizzying movements
Wheels!
Pushed around
Taciturn!

April

2008-04-12T13:41:00.000-07:00

Bluff City of the North,
Under the ashen fog of a mid-spring dawn,
The Autos parked gently in a row, like a new game of Solitaire,
Being spat upon by the insults of a winter refusing to retire
Seeds huddle beneath the frost that may give way to muddy mire

The drizzle freezes.
The icy breezes
Keep everyone's temperament low-key.
The gray clouds hover above the darker clouds,
Which threaten to bolster the air hammer
That pounds the heads of citizens of depressed Midwestern towns

My friend, the hot blood
Flowing from ear tips to claws,
Keeps me warm and alive
I thank no one else

Translator's Note: Dima is obviously depressed. Secretly his heart sings for spring. Don't worry; warm weather is a-comin'.

Birthday Poem

2008-02-28T14:21:00.000-08:00

It is still great to be alive
At the ripe old age of five.
In cat years, that's thirty-nine,
Anyway you have it, it's just fine.

Translator's Note: Indeed Dima has turned 5 on this day. He will get some nice kitty treats for his special day.

Bast

2008-02-25T16:21:00.000-08:00

Ah, Bast!
Say how at last
Shall we, thy cats
Meet on your lyric mats
Made in the sun,
The Cat, the Holy One
Where we such felines had
As made us nobly wild, not mad
And yet each verse of ilk
Outdid the fish, outdid the frolic milk

Translator's Note: Dima was inspired three ways to compose this poem. The first inspiration was the title of his previous poem, "Bask." It reminded him of the cat goddess of the ancient Egyptians, Bast, his second inspiration. His third and final inspiration was Robert Herrick, a 17th Century English poet. He's the one who wrote "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may..." For some reason, Dima has been reading his poetry this past month. I cannot explain why.

Bask

2008-02-24T11:30:00.000-08:00

Midwinter sun
Peers into the room at sharp angles
Midwinter sun
Warms a spot for not too long

I take it upon myself
To find the warm spot before it cools
I take it upon myself
To request the sun to stay a little longer

"Midwinter sun,
Your warmth is dearest to me
In the middle of the day
Please do not send your light astray"

The sun complies for only an hour
It is in that hour that I bask
In the warm spot provided by the stubborn light
Of the midwinter sun

Mac Cat

2008-02-20T15:32:00.000-08:00

CAUTION: This is not a poem.

Since Jeremy and Jenevieve have made the PC their primary computer, I haven't had much access to my poems and my pictures on the Mac. I'm still writing a lot of poetry, but I can't get it on my blog as often. I'm trying to convince Jeremy to alternate the computers, so I can put my claws to work, clicking on the keyboard.

Thank you for your patience,

Dima

Snow Fall

2008-01-27T08:50:00.000-08:00

Drifting slowly downwards

Puff balls of white

Gently float near the window

Before alighting in the parking lot

I try counting the number of flakes

That pass near my nose

Losing myself into the continuous

Snowstorm

Returning my consciousness to

Where I am

The falling snow seems to have grown

To the size of baby mice

Wishing I could open the glass barrier

Between me and the snow-mice

I make another wish--

To have a parachute or a pair of wings

I would descend with the millions

Of tiny white fluffy mice

Trying to bring them into my claws

What a wondrous playground the air would be

Translator's Note: Dima did in fact leap at and claw at the window as if the snowflakes were entering our apartment. The falling snow did mesmerize him for nearly an hour. That was over a week ago, and the snow still remains unmelted.

Queen of Yarn

2008-01-15T15:14:00.000-08:00

Miles and miles

of potential playtime

bundled up beside her

Between two prongs

she produces

another layer of

human fur--a curious

thing I don't comprehend

A pleasant reverberating tone

emanates from her face

I can't tell exactly where it comes

From her

comes fur and song

but what I love most

is her company

Translator's Note: Dima thought it only fair to write a poem about my wife after writing a poem about me. The "human fur" he refers to is clothing. That "pleasant reverberating tone" he refers to is her humming an opera piece. He wanted to let his fans now that this poem was also written to make her feel better. She hasn't been feeling too well these days.

My Master

2008-01-08T12:43:00.000-08:00

My attention is a tall

person: he will if idle

make a string alive where there

was no life: he will

type and edit my

ethereal poetry:

he will wind his mind tight

around my meaning

or, undistracted by

other media, translate

cat perfectly: he will

pounce on a stalled riddle

and wrestle the mind numb:

attention, calm human

I see, as he coughs in my

face, dislodges string

in my belly; lie down, be

still, have mercy, here

is poetry, mews of poetry, write

it out, run with it

Translator's Note: While I was away on vacation, Dima was studying a lot of poetry by A.R. Ammons, whose works were recently donated to East Carolina University. Although Dima is a fine poet, I had to repeatedly explain to him that East Carolina was not a state. This dampered his spirit to visit the place on his vacation. Nevertheless, he produced this poem with me in mind. Additional note: the title is not "My Translator."

Translator's Vacation

2007-12-21T13:09:00.000-08:00

Dear Dima fans,

This is his translator. I've been on vacation the past few days and won't be able to translate Dima's poetry until I am reunited with him in a couple of weeks. If possible, he will dictate his poetry to me over the phone if he gets incredibly inspired. Otherwise you will have to wait until a week into 2008. Dima would like to wish everyone a Happy New Year.

Happy Holidays from Dima and his lowly translator!

Mr. Blog

2007-12-10T19:28:00.000-08:00

Mr. Blog is a cat
He writes faithful and true
And on the Internet he wrote
a blog for You.

And who pray is this You
that doubts Mr. Blog is a cat?
Oh if he only knew that
You doubt what cats can do

Like typing and blogging
Online many cats can write
Mr. Blog believes your doubting
Is a furball of a mouse he'll bite

So the picture shows
Clearly paws on the keys
And a voice in his head cried: Mr. Blog
Believes what he sees

And a devil's voice cried: The eyes
The eyes play tricks

Translator's Note: While he was writing his poetry, I snapped this shot of him. He really liked this picture and knew it would be the proof he needed to show others that it is he who is the author. It took him a few days to write a poem based on this photo. His inspiration was Stevie Smith, a British poet who was close to George Orwell.

I Am Content

2007-12-04T17:49:00.000-08:00

I am content
With sunlight upon my face
Here is my smile for you

My troubles are none
My memories are sweet
My victories are won
My meals--always meat

I am content
I offer my contentment to share
There is plenty of it to go round

It lasts all day
As long as I'm awake
It never goes away
I don't mind if you take

I am content
My thoughts are as warm as my face
Wherever I am, it's a wonderful place

Door of Mystery

2007-12-02T12:17:00.000-08:00

The door I came from
Stands silent everyday
Beyond it adventure
In a cage and a car

Usually I remain home
While humans come and go
Walking in and out
Their shoes on and off

Friends and family
Come from that door
Bearing smiles and gifts
To eventually share food

Some days the door traps
My companions for days on end
They send someone to rescue me
From my hunger and my thirst

Why must they leave daily?
What keeps them away?
Why do they often return
at such predictable times?

One day I will learn to open that door
Then I will reveal its secrets to the world
Its ability to deliver special guests
Its ability to control the lights
Its ability to trap my companions
Its inability to keep them forever
Soon I will know
Yes, that is my destiny
The cat that will solve its mystery

Chaise Rouge

2007-11-17T18:26:00.000-08:00

If when my caretakers are sleeping
and the fan and its light
turns on mysteriously
and the moon shines a parallelogram
upon the desert sand carpet--
I find the red chair inviting me
after I take a midnight snack from
my midnight bowl

So much depends upon
this red chair
in material made for my scratching
next to the computer desk

I have sat down all night
and shed all over it
Forgive me
it was so fuzzy
and so warm

Translator's Note: As William Carlos Williams climbed over the top of Dima's poetry book, carefully he turned a page and then another and then slammed it shut. "Be careful to be original," he whispered to my cat before he stepped down into the pit of the empty flowerpot.

This poem is dedicated to 2 WCW fans--Adam and Patrick, both of the Badger State.

Living Ball

2007-11-08T18:39:00.000-08:00

There is no question it is alive

I see the ball
Multi-colored, fuzzy, breathing

Out of the corner of my eye
I catch it in motion
But as I fix my gaze
It returns motionless
Taunting me in its stillness

But it lives, I swear to it
Professional in its inertia (or lack thereof)
It plays the patience game
However I too can remain static

The faceless ball waits.
Ready to pounce, I only inhale
...and exhale
With eyes fixed on any movement

In the meantime...
Footsteps pass on the floor below
Wind gusts blow around the parked cars outside
The clouds dim the shaft of light entering the living room
Suddenly the room hushes as the refrigerator stops running
But the ball is not phased

Neither am I
As the central air switches on
Blowing on the tufts of hair on my ears
I hear the ball laughing
Its many tufts remain still

But then...
A pulse makes the ball twitch
And I am on it
And it's caught in my jaw
Then torn by my back paws
I have it thoroughly tortured
It cannot escape me

...not even from the other side of a closed door

String

2007-11-02T11:50:00.000-07:00

for
chasing
to
play
with
long
or
short
any
color
moving
fast
like
the
tail
of
a
rodent
moving
slowly
like
a
sneaky
snake
but
string
is
not
meat
I
shall
not
eat

Translator's Note: Dima has recovered from swallowing a bunch of string. While he was recovering, this concept came to him. He wants this to be published all around the cat blogosphere to raise awareness of the complications with string digestion.

Cat At Bat

2007-10-26T14:08:00.000-07:00

The outlook is sunny for Dima every day.
There is never a score, but he always wants to play.
When his favorite ball is in the middle of the room
He wakes up in the morning and towards it goes zoom!

Nobody watches as he licks his paws with spit
That ball will not sit silent as it is about to be hit
But then after a while it rolls under the couch
Dima stares and meows as he stares with his crouch

From the bedroom awake his master and his lady
They hear him meow, "Let's play the game, I'm ready."
Dima allows them to break fast for a little chat
But when they are finished Dima is at bat

His master or his lady retrieve the ball out from under
The desire to play resounds from the cat like thunder
He waits for the ball to pitched at the couch
And for the first round, the cat struck out

There is no other cat to replace Dima at the plate
He satisfied to stand there, to hit is his fate
After a few innings, the cats bats the ball
Although there are no home runs, that's all

The score is zero and he is content
As long as his baseball energy has been spent
Now we can go to eat his morning meal
To him that game was a really big deal

Translator's Note: Dima decided to write about himself in third person as an experiment to see if he could view himself as human. I told him that the poem does seem very human-written, but there are some elements that are completely feline. I hope it wasn't lost in translation.

The Feline Acrobat

2007-10-14T13:16:00.000-07:00

At my request
I am tossed into the conditioned air
Of my high-ceiling'd habitat
I like to be lifted
By freshly cleaned sheets off the ground
I am the feline acrobat

First on my paws
Then on my back
Then on my belly
Then back on my paws

Dizziness I acheive
Great heights I attain
Meows of joy I confer

First on my paws
Then on my back
Then on my belly
Then upright on my paws

I desire to be flipped
I desire to be flopped
I desire to be swung
I desire to be dropped...
Gracefully, I am the feline acrobat

Surrounding Me

2007-10-05T14:49:00.000-07:00

Objects on the floor
Wooden frames holding family photos
Bits of shredded corrugated cardboard
Multicolored ball always calling to me
Pile of human clothing next to a bag of human clothing

Stuff on the wall
Cases of shelves of books
Evidence of traveling
Barely noticeable fingerprints
Barely noticeable traces of my feline fragrance
One dead bug mysteriously killed
It could have been suicide

Things in containers
Crunchy meat things for my food
Burbling upside-down bottle of water
Pockets of discs covered in the scent of another cat
Rumbling metal box with winter inside
Unstable white monstrosity in the bathroom
Always threatening to tumble on me

These things surrounding me
Keep me company when the lord and lady
Are out and about breathing the air that often blows in from the windows
I never wonder what's for breakfast

Translator's Note: This poem was inspired by Gertrude Stein's "Tender Buttons" poetry. He came upon Ms. Stein's work when I was listening to an album of the same name.

Welcome Welcome

2007-09-30T19:11:00.000-07:00

Welcome again,
Guests from afar.
Take a look at how myself I carry
Around this table you'll find me tarry.
Where are you from,
Guests from afar?
Were you driven here in cages?
I know the drive takes like ages.
Guests from afar,
You must be impressed.
This place is my own
It keeps my temperament at rest.

His Master's Crown

2007-09-23T17:24:00.000-07:00

Throughout the day,
his master walks without his crown
But when darkness falls
and his master journeys into his dreams
His crown creeps into his chamber
to curl around his head until dawn

Translator's Note: I was a bit flattered by this poem, but perhaps he was flattering himself even more. Just look at the picture he chose. Is he the crown or the king? But I may agree that his worth is equal to that of a bejeweled crown made of pure gold.

Massage for a Sea Cow

2007-09-19T19:05:00.000-07:00

Condemned to surface water dwelling
As boats speed clumsily
The manatee way of life is threatened
Our social comforts drop away

Until a cat from up the Mississippi
Provides a tender touch
From deceivingly sharp claws
The bliss of life returns

Translator's Note: Dima oftens recites this poem while performing his nightly ritual of massaging our plush animals. He also massages our plush monkey, Hong Kong, not in the picture. I predict a monkey massage poem in the making.

Clipped

2007-09-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

Painlessly
my claws were
blunted

Translator's Note: This must be a kitty haiku. First experience for me. Dima warned me about these.

Monday Rain, Monday Pain

2007-09-10T14:03:00.000-07:00

Rabies, do I know you?
I do not know rabies.
I do not have rabies!

One moment at home
The next in a cage
The next in a car
The next at the vet!

New places and new faces
Voices of cats
Meow and cry
But I do not see them

Suddenly freed
and on a table
Hands all around me
Some stroking, some poking

Then...
the shot!

It does not phase me
It does not raise me
I sit calmly and comfortably
The strangers depart

Proudly inoculated
I am returned home
Back in the bag
Immune from the rabies

First Poem

2007-09-08T15:14:00.000-07:00

Cat

Translator's note: I asked Dima if there was more to this poem, and he said no. I asked him what the difference was between the word "cat" and his first poem. He then gave me a prolonged stare as if I should know the answer.