“My! My! Look at Linda’s arms!”
“They are scratched!”
Ura May looked at me and said, “From the barns!”
I was blank. “The barns? From hay thatched?
“No. No. Not at all,”
She pursed her lips,
“No. Not from a fall.”
“The cats!” She had her hands on hips
“Their mama was such a good mouser,”
“We kept her and let her stay,”
“In the barn away from Bowser.”
“Now there are kittens, oh so lovable,”
“But barn cats, nontheless.”
“If it’s not mice, it’s other trouble,”
“Those kitchens cuddle up the best,”
“Until Mama calls to them,”
They wiggle, squirm, and scratch,
“O course the girls won’t release their friend”
“And that’s the story of the barn cats, match.”
Ura May didn’t have to explain,
Because I remembered the cats
It wasn’t too long ago we ran from the rain,
And we found furry balls, round and fat,
Mother fussed over scratches and that pain.
“You leave those barn cats alone, and that is that,”
“They will scratch your eyes out, I’m not tellin’ you again.”
