Tag Archives: cats

Happy National Poetry Month: Poem 28

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10:49 a.m. I thought I’d be able to keep my direction.

10:58 a.m. I obviously was not correct about that. But I’m back. I had to refresh my ideas about what I am writing about, which is my corner of the world.

It’s the only thing I’m in charge of.

It's not always neat and far from straight,
this corner where I make my home.
If you think you know it, baby, just wait,
because this is my biome.

It's filled with books, kids, and my cats,
and furniture near its end.
If you expected more, well, I guess that's
your problem, isn't it, friend?

There's nail polish in the rug, cat fur
on the couch—and the dog smells.
Though I can't entertain, I can hear purr
and meow and bark—better than bells.

My decorating skills are not extensive,
but this is my corner, my home where I live.

11:21 a.m. Took a little longer due to interruptions.

11:24 a.m. After re-reading, I wonder about switching the third and fourth stanzas.

My Corner
by Michelle Garren-Flye

It's not always neat and far from straight,
this corner where I make my home.
If you think you know it, baby, just wait,
because this is my biome.

There's nail polish in the rug, cat fur
on the couch—and the dog smells.
Though I can't entertain, I can hear purr
and meow and bark—better than bells.

It's filled with books, kids, and my cats,
and furniture near its end.
If you expected more, well, I guess that's
your problem, isn't it, friend?

My decorating skills are not extensive,
but this is my corner, my home where I live.

11:26 a.m. Not sure. I think I like it better the other way.

My Corner
by Michelle Garren-Flye

It's not always neat and far from straight,
this corner where I make my home.
If you think you know it, baby, just wait,
because this is my biome.

It's filled with books, kids, and my cats,
and furniture near its end.
If you expected more, well, I guess that's
your problem, isn't it, friend?

There's nail polish in the rug, cat fur
on the couch—and various dog smells.
Though I can't entertain, I can hear purr
and meow and bark—better than bells.

My decorating skills are not extensive,
but this is my corner, my home where I live.

11:28 a.m. Okay, yeah. That’s it.

Photo and poem copyright 2026 Michelle Garren-Flye

Fur Babies and Heartbreak

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For those who don’t know, it’s been a rough couple weeks in my household while dealing with pets. My cat, who has been sick for roughly a month, tested positive for feline leukemia last week, even though she was negative as a kitten and is completely indoors. Well, she’s been on antibiotics and steroids and things are looking up for her, thankfully. However, we were dealt a horrible blow two days ago when my sweet, valiant little Freddy, who was spending time in the backyard with our other dog, was bitten by a copperhead. He died about three hours later. I have this horrible, haunting, heartbreaking feeling that I somehow, unwittingly, traded the life of one beloved pet for another. I’m grateful for my cat’s recovery, but I miss my dog. So I wrote this for both of them.

For Freddy

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

The beauty that remains

Can’t take your place

Though she may try.

She can’t fill the dark shadow

Left by your absence.

She may comfort and help,

She may make me smile,

And her purrs may even delight.

I’m glad my beauty remains,

But my heart will always miss

The spot you once filled.

National Poetry Month: Poem 6

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Poem 6:

Little Kitty

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

Little kitty, you gaze so long

From the floor at my lap.

 

Would you like to join me?

I invite you with a pat.

 

You consider my offer

With eyes half closed.

 

You leap—so graceful,

Your purr is divine.

 

Step once, step twice…

Then back quickly away.

 

Was my lap your desire?

Or was it always my chair?

Good-bye Dixie

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ImageI had another post in mind for today, but my family had to say good-bye to a special friend and I felt she deserved a spot here. Dixie  was the first cat I could ever claim as my own, although I inherited and loved another one from my husband. She was eighteen years old this year. The reason I can remember so well is because my husband and I adopted her shortly after we returned from our honeymoon in June of 1995. I was very excited. We already had my husband’s cat, Woody, but Dixie was our first baby together.

As such, she needed an apt name. We had just been to Disney World for our honeymoon (another first for me), and I was still very much caught up in the magic of it. While there, we stayed at Dixie Landings, a Disney resort that has since been renamed. I loved that magical stay. I didn’t have to worry about anything. No car trouble, no work at a job I hated, no bills I couldn’t afford to pay or laundry I needed to do or noisy neighbors. Nothing but me and my husband. I loved every minute of it.

And so, when we got back and found the kitten I wanted to adopt, we named her Dixie.

Dixie was the cat of my dreams. Spunky and sweet from the very beginning, she even charmed Woody, who was a tiger in every other respect. But he and Dixie loved each other right up until he died six years ago. Since then, Dixie has shown her age a little. Don’t get me wrong. She was a queen right up until the end. Even today when I sat beside her expecting each breath to be her last, she was regal. Beautiful.

Good-bye, my tri-colored beauty, my muse, my confidante and companion. I’ll miss you.