Nevel the Cat and His Knives

“Behold my great treasures,” said Nevel the Cat
and proudly displayed his honed artifacts;
blades with jeweled hilts and paw-sized knives
crowded the tavern wall on Hill Road Drive.

“This was from my mother, god rest her soul,
a Norman sword, a thousand years old.
And here a pocket knife from a former Cub scout,
long as a rat’s tail and thick as good stout.”

His companions laughed and gave him a cheer,
clinking three glasses of wine and some of beer.
“What a wonderful collection you are to bequeath.
Now tell us, who is the lucky honoree?”

He pointed to a young Tabby with a blue felt hat.
“Why Maisey, who’s succeeding my flat.
When I retire, she’ll have this whole store.
And cleaning rags and polish galore.”

Now, Cecil the Ape, was quite sad
for he’d wanted a blade for so long, and bad.
“But why not give at least one to me?
I’ve shone and re-gilt even the filigree!”

“I’m a responsible owner,” said Cecil the Cat,
You’ve got the passion and care, I’ll give you that.
But also the thumbs to commit a faux pas.
And I’d rather avoid all the deadly hoo-ha!”

And so it was, Maisey took over the cache
and finely wrought steel never, ever did slash!

(This was written after I had gotten into a debate with someone who collected knives and wanted to bring one of them into his school for “useful” purposes. Please keep schools a safe learning place.)


14 to 18

An old song on the radio
Recalls to me that summer spent
Gathering papers and stapling packets
Eating pizza on late Wednesday nights
Figuring out the logistics of the storage room
The knowing look of our boss and teacher
Our last day together picnicking
On the green of the park
And my own amusement teaching her
How to feed the pigeons