The Cat

He seemed to be a terrible marksman
when out hunting with his friends;
but shooting targets or clay pigeons
he could best them all.

He could not see the purpose
in ending life just for the sport.
The refrigerator at home
was full and required no murder.

One day when walking through the woods
with his buddies and his gun,
a cat happened to cross their path
and the ridicule ensued.

P***y, hippie, and bleeding heart
were just a few of the names they threw,
so just to show them he was none of these
without a thought he pulled the trigger.

The cat fell without a moan or twitch.
"Great shot!" and "awesome!" were
some of the praises he heard
as he joined their raucous laughter.

Years later as a man he is still
haunted by his actions on that day,
and he realizes that when the cat fell,
a part of him died too.

Reviews

[Mary]

I think that the part that died was the hunter's illusion that he was the decision maker in his life. Illusions must die so that we might uncover the truth about ourselves, that we might embrace it or change it. The stanza that describes the death of the cat is most powerful "The cat fell without a moan or twitch." Well written poem and powerful.

[Gypsy Warrior Queen]

for you are the cat...dying every time you are hunted.....

[Emily B]

have I read this in another form? it seems familiar like I've been here before

[Corset]

just wonderful and we find no one can punish us more than our own conscientiousness or guilt. Peer pressure will make us say and do weird things, as will love. We learn from these experiences, they form character, and that is what I have always loved about your poetry, it usually has a moral compass. wonderful as always!

[.]

~~ that pain is what makes us humane... ~~ a phenomenal piece of writing... a journey into acute self-awareness and self-correction...