Hate That Cat (2 page)

I felt like there were

feathers in my brain

when you brought out those

objects

and we practiced doing

ALLITERATION

on them

like with the

p
urple
p
ickle

and the

p
olished
p
encil

and the

ch
ocolate
ch
alk

but

the pickle was not purple

and the pencil was not polished

and the chalk was not chocolate

so

my uncle Bill would probably say

we are WRONG

even though it is fun

to imagine

a purple pickle

a polished pencil

and chocolate chalk.

Something I am wondering:

if you cannot hear

do words have no sounds

in your head?

Do you see

a

          silent

                         movie?

So much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow
. . .

The wheelbarrow poem
again
?

Did you forget we read it last year?

Okay, here's one:

So much depends upon

a creeping cat

crouched in the tree

beside the yellow bus stop
.

(I bet you're going to ask me

“
Why
does so much depend upon

a creeping cat?”

Right?

Remember:

the wheelbarrow guy

didn't say why

so much depended upon

the red wheelbarrow and

those white chicky chickens.)

ONOMATOPOEIA

made my ears frizzle

today.

All that
buzz buzz buzz

and

pop! pop!

and

drip
and
tinkle
and
trickle
—

the sounds are still

buzzing and popping

in my head.

And the bells bells bells

in that poem you read

by Mr. Poe

(is he alive?)

all those bells bells bells

all those tinkling and jingling

and swinging and ringing

and rhyming and chiming

and clanging and clashing

and tolling and rolling

all those bells bells bells

and that tintinnabulation

what a word!

Tintinnabulation!

I only understood about half

the words in that poem

but like you said

sometimes that is okay

because we
felt
all those

bells

and we
heard
all those

bells

crazily ringing in their

tintinnabulation!

But I bet my uncle Bill

wouldn't like Mr. Poe's

bell poem.

My uncle Bill would probably say

that Mr. Poe repeats himself too much

and needs to find a synonym for
bells

but I don't care

I love all those bells bells bells.

I thought of some more

onomatopoeia words:

gurgle

burble

wiggle
.

Are those right?

And what about

purr purr purr
?

And did your cat

really have kittens?

I don't really like

creepy cats.

You should get

a delightful dog.

Something I am wondering:

if you cannot hear

what happens when you read

purr purr purr

or
gurgle

or
chocolate chalk?

Can you somehow

feel

the
purr purr purr

the
gurgle

the
chocolate chalk?

Do you
feel
the sounds

instead of

hear
them?

Hear the dogs with their yips

squeaky yips!

What a funny squeaking sound

coming from their lips!

How they ripple ripple ripple

in the shadow of a pickle

In the yipyipabulation

through the air

from the yip yip yip yip

yip yip yip

from the squeaking and the rippling

of the yips.

(P.S. I'm not quite sure how that

pickle got in there.)

If you could not hear

you wouldn't hear

all those funny
yip yip yips

but you could
see
the dog

bouncing his head up and down

his mouth flapping

and maybe you would get the idea

that he was making

the same sound

over and over.

Maybe.

But how would you even know

what

          
sound

                       is?

I like Maggie's
buzz
poem

you put on the board

on that orange paper

and yes

you can put my
yip
poem

up there

and you can put

my name on it

too.

In my head are so many

bells and buzzes and yips

all jingling and clanking around

bumping into each other.

Very noisy in my head.

If you cannot hear

it must be so

quiet

in your head.

How are your purr purr kittens?

I would write a
purr
poem

except that I don't really like

C

A

T

S.

When you read that kitten poem

by Miss Valerie Worth

(is she alive?)

I could see that black kitten

dancing sidewise and leaping

and crouching with

her eyes round as oranges

and I could see that black kitten

pouncing with her cactus claws

on a piece of fluff.

It made me laugh,

that black kitten.

It reminded me of my dog Sky

how he would dance around

a skittering leaf

as if it were alive

and he would cock his head

and wag his tail

and scoot backwards

and then yip and pounce

on the fluttery leaf.

He made me laugh, that Sky.

And I hate to admit it

but the kittens you brought

to class

were not creepy.

I'm not saying

I like cats

(dogs are much much better)

but those kittens

were
f
antastically
f
unny

the way they were

skittering
around

and
purrrrrrrrrr
ing.

I guess I never saw

a kitten up close before

only big
c
reepy
c
ats

that look like they would

love to scratch you.

I told my dad

about those furry kittens

you brought in to school

and he asked me

if I would like one

and I said

no no no no no.

He is coming to parent conferences

tonight

and I just wanted you to know

that I said

no no no no no.

Why?

Because kittens grow up

to be
cats

and what do cats do?

Do they play ball with you

or jump up on you

and lick your face

all slobbery kissy

to show you

they love love love you?

I know one fat black cat

(I hate that cat)

who is meaner than mean

(I hate that cat).

And besides

even if you had a nice cat

that you loved

it might run outside

and into the street

and get

squished

by a car

going
fast

with many many miles to go

before it sleeps.

Or it could get

sick

really really sick

and never get better.

Or it could

run away

or

get lost

and end up

somewhere

else.

I hope I did not hurt

your feelings

but cats are cats

and dogs are dogs.

P.S. Thank you for saying

nice things about me

to my dad last night.

He liked my
yip
poem

up on the wall

and he likes you, too.

(For true.

I am not just saying that

to make you feel good.)

P.S.S. No I cannot write

about my mother.

That would be

IM-POSS-I-BLE.

Yes, I know

that all those bad things

could happen to a dog, too,

which is why

I

don't

want

a

dog

either.

I already had

a dog

my dog Sky

my funny furry

smiling dog Sky.

It's strange that now

when you read a poem to the class

I hear alliteration popping out

everywhere.

I never heard it before

or maybe I heard the sounds

but I didn't know why they were

sticking in my head.

Yesterday after you read the eagle poem

by Mr. Tennyson

(is he alive?)

those first two lines stuck stuck stuck

in my head:

He clasps the crag with crooked hands

Close to the sun in lonely lands . . .

And I could see that eagle

all day long

clasping the crag with his crooked hands

in those lonely lands

just sitting up there watching

watching

before he

F

A

L

L

S

boom like a thunderbolt!

Does he swoop into the sea

and snatch a fish?

Or a little mousie on the hillside?

Or a creepy cat?

Sorry. Just kidding.

He pats the kitten with puffy paws

near the window draped with gauze

and yawns and opens up his jaws.

The wrinkled rug beneath him lies.

He watches with his big black eyes

and like a lazy boy he sighs.

Well.

At least the dog

did not

EAT

the kitten.

Those kittens of yours

surprised me

they got so big

and they are so funny

(especially for cats)

and that black one

with the white spot

on her forehead

she fell asleep

right in my lap

even though I didn't

pet her

well, only a tiny bit

and she was
purrrrrrrr
ing

while she slept

so I think she was happy

but

don't get me wrong

a dog is still much better

than a cat.

So much depends upon

a red-headed mailman

walking up the drive

holding a blue postcard.

Did you BELIEVE

the postcard I brought in?

Did you BELIEVE

that Mr. Walter Dean Myers—

my all-time favorite poet

who visited our class

last year—

that Mr. Walter Dean Myers

himself

sent me a postcard?

I
didn't believe it

when I saw it.

I sat right down on the steps

and read it about fifty times.

And do you BELIEVE

That he mentioned his

C A T ????

His CAT !

I love that postcard

love love love it

but I'm still a little surprised

that Mr. Walter Dean Myers

has a CAT.

I thought he would have

a dashing dog

or maybe a hearty horse.

It is hard to picture

Mr. Walter Dean Myers

with

a

CAT.