Someday when my cat can talk …

He’ll tell me why he loves to hide

disguised among the flowers.

He’ll talk about the basset hound

that spies on him for hours.

He’ll tell me how much fun it is

to outrun the fastest mouse.

And he’ll brag about the bat he caught

as it swooped above the house.

He’ll purr about the seashore,

where his paws sink into sand.

And he’ll gab about the fish he found

that washed up on the land.

He’ll tell me how he hopped a ship

and where he stowed away.

He’ll cheer the wind that blew his fur

as he sailed beyond the bay.

He’ll recall the fog on England’s coast,

where seagulls wander free.

And he’ll tell me if it’s really true

that British cats drink tea.

He’ll muse about the mice that play

inside old palace walls

and how he liked to dine on them

in dimly lighted halls.

He’ll sparkle when he speaks of France,

where he had such fun on wheels.

But he’ll frown upon the fashion shows

with all the pointy heels.

He’ll recall the wiry mousetrap

that he twisted into art,

and he’ll boast about the prize he won

at a gallery in Montmartre.

He’ll speak fondly of the snail he met

while camping out near Cannes.

And he’ll whisper why she’s hiding

from the chef at Café Sands.

He’ll complain about the rabbits

that chased him into Rome.

But he’ll rave about the stars that burst

above St. Peter’s dome.

He’ll tell me why the pigeons flock

to crumbs in St. Mark’s Square.

And he’ll crow about the gondolas

that took him everywhere.

He’ll talk about events in Spain—

like bullfights every spring.

And he’ll praise himself for stopping one

by jumping in the ring.

He’ll relive the Spanish soccer games

when he played just like a pro

and all the señoritas yelled,

He’ll recall Vienna’s Opera House

and the bird he met backstage.

And he’ll tell me why she sings with joy

though locked inside her cage.

He’ll salute the awesome athletes

who awakened ancient Greece.

And he’ll chat about the torch parade

he marched in for world peace.

He’ll remember Holland’s tulips

that the Dutch so proudly guard.

And he’ll tell me if he missed me

and the flowers in our yard.

My cat will tell me all these things

when he talks to me someday.

Until then, when the sun goes down,

he always sneaks away.

He keeps his thoughts a secret

as he heads off toward the sea.

And no one knows just where he’ll go—

except for you and me.