A Knight’s Tail

Alice is a delicate tabby

we adopted.

Arthur is a big gray tomcat who adopted us.

Cara and Chris

dress them in doll clothes,

conduct weekly wedding ceremonies

while yellow eyes glare.

Escaping zealous affection,

Alice and Arthur honeymoon together

at that exquisite windowfront getaway

where the sun beams in strong.

The two of them

fold together and bake.

Two uninvited Irish setters

gallop their purebred selves

into our mixed-breed yard,

run wild circles

celebrating their luck of

a gate left open.

We laugh

until they chase our cats,

then yell for them to “GET!”

Arthur protects his Alice,

defending her honor

with bold hisses and spits

gray tail puffed as he

bluffs with small, sharp claws exposed.

The dogs are delighted by his challenge,

and Arthur is playfully

caught up like a ragdoll.

Mom throws lawn furniture.

I shout and give chase as Chris

runs inside to wake Dad

from his longstanding couch nap.

I punch-punch-punch

one big red dog

as he shake-shake-shakes

our brave cat

Arthur goes limp

and flop-flop-flops

to the ground.

Dad rouses from the hollers

to see Chris standing rigid,

caught-caught-caught

between being a boy wary

of his mystical father

and being the only

man of the house who is conscious.

By the time Dad runs out,

hair sticking up, he’s

too late to do anything

except bury valiant Arthur in our field.