Mr. Joyce Takes on the World

Yesterday             “I’m too aggressive.” My mother said. “She won’t come out for me.”             “Let me give it a try.” I said.             It was May of 2005, and my mother had just brought home our new cat. She came in a vented box, which was designed to look like a house with a red-shingled roof. On the side was written I’m going home. Yet, I hadn’t seen the occupant of the box. She was in hiding under a bed we had in a spare room. Mom had brought her home while I was at work, and so I wouldn’t be able to see her until that evening. My mother had informed me that, “She looks like Oscar the Grouch.” To which I replied, “You didn’t bring home a Muppet, did you? She doesn’t have green fur, does she?” Thankfully, she did not. I was twenty-five years old at the time, and couldn’t resist getting it on it video....

The Queen in Exile She waits on her throne For an audience with cardinals. She will not speak human Words, Nor will they bow to her. Instead, she will watch From behind a window, And wait. With flicking tongue she Will anoint her subjects’ hands. With a swish of her tail, she Treads the floors of her palace. She is Gloriana, in a way. No less a queen than Victoria, or Elizabeth I and II. She is the purring version of Catherine Parr, And just as faithful as Queen Mary. She is both lioness—her Own royal standard— And pet. She is the Queen, Clad in the finest fur. She issues proclamations As meows, which The peasants cannot understand. It is her own Queen’s English; Like Latin to a layperson. She sleeps in sunshine. She wakes at dusk. Her kingdom is of the night. While she battles invading Wind-up mice, she is protector, And sovereign. When She partakes of catnip It is her teatime. She is...