Poem | Battle of Kismet

The Battle of Kismet
withanar ©2009

I was resting happily, been hypnotized by my TV, when
Walking slowly, steadily, my cat, Kismet came up to me.
I had little else to do the clock read AM, after two
The cat purred, and began to mew. She wanted something,
This, I knew.
“Feline Siren, let me be!” but Kismet called, she beckoned me.
I scratched her head and then did see the struggling movement of a flea.
“A flea!” I shouted, “I despise!” and then I looked in Kismets eyes
And said to her “You realize, to leave it there would not be wise.”
As I reached out towards Kismet's head she tiger-rolled upon the bed
And I could see, much to my dread, "More fleas upon your back!" I said.

I clutched Kismet and headed out, prepared to fight an insect bout
Before the cat had time to pout I made sure to secure her snout.
We reached the kitchen in a click, I sprayed her coat to make it slick
With stuff to kill both flea and tick that smelled so bad we both got sick.
The purring ceased, and Kismet cried. She didn’t like it, she implied.
I held her down and worked with pride, not yielding ‘till each flea had died.

But Kismet cared not for my cause, and quickly swung her razor claws,
When in my arm I felt her jaws, the flea removal
Came to pause.

I muscled through and tried again, she hissed and writhed and meowed and then
She clawed and bit me all the same, as if my work were all in vein.
“Kismet, stop it! would you please, for I must rid you of these fleas!”
But Kismet I could not appease, she treated me like a disease.
Yet once again the task I tried, and once again she screamed and cried
Injecting nails and teeth inside my arms, which now felt
Petrified.

Scratched and bleeding I could see the basis for a parody
Of battle between cat and me because I noticed that first flea.
Of how my feline detainee had rendered me an amputee.
I would not yield
Neither would she.
So who’s more stubborn?
The cat
Or I?