Hate That Cat by Sharon Creech Page A

squish silent rounded
    arm arm squishy soft squishy soft squishy arm arm
    arm arm squishy soft black fur squishy soft arm arm
    arm arm squishy soft yellow fur squishy arm arm
    arm arm seat squish seat squish black fur arm arm
    arm arm seat squishy seat squishy seat arm arm
    squishy seat squishy seat yellow fur squishy seat
    silent silent silent silent silent silent silent silent
    leg leg leg leg
    leg leg leg leg
    leg leg leg leg

F EBRUARY 14
    Happeeeee Valentine’s Day!
    I liked when you said
    we could try
    turning the metaphors
    upside down or inside out
    and I liked when you used
    my chair poem as an example
    so
    instead of saying
    the chair is like a pleasingly plump momma
    we could try
    my momma is like a pleasingly plump chair
    except that now
    everyone thinks
    my mother is very plump
    and looks like a chair
    and it doesn’t mean the same
    when you turn them around
    because while the chair
    is a lot like a plump momma
    my own mother
    is like
    so
    much
    more
    than a chair.

F EBRUARY 21
    Well, okay, I will try it.
    Here goes:
    My mother is like a plump chair
    all squishy soft and huggy
    when you sit in her lap
    (Just so you know:
    I am too old to sit in her lap.
    I’m just saying this for the poem.)
    Her arms hold you in
    so you won’t fall
    and will feel
    safe
    And she has sturdy legs
    (although I want to make it clear
    that my real mother has two legs
    not four)
    and a straight back
    She is proud
    but not too proud
    and she is there
    waiting for me
    always
    quietly
    waiting
    for
    me.
    End of Poem.
    So here’s the problem:
    My real mother
    can’t always be
    waiting for me
    because she works at night
    and my mother
    doesn’t sit in the same place
    day in and day out
    like a chair does—
    she is always
    moving moving moving
    her hands
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â wav                   air
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  ing      the
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â in
    talking to us
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â with                 hands
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â those
    and she isn’t plump at all
    and like I said
    she has two legs, not four
    and so
    really
    she is not very much
    like a chair
    at
    all.
    I will never be
    a
    real
    poet.

F EBRUARY 25
    Today the fat black cat
    up in the tree by the bus stop
    dropped a nut on my head
    thunk
    and when I yelled at it
    that fat black cat said
    Murr-mee-urrr
    in a
    nasty
    spiteful
    way.
    I hate that cat.

F EBRUARY 28
    I am getting
    a little worried
    about poor
    Mr. William Carlos Williams
    (is he alive?)
    I mean:
    first there was the
    poem about the
    red wheelbarrow
    and the chicky chickens
    and it’s true I like that poem now
    (it grows on you)
    but
    those two poems about the
    PLUMS . . . !!!???
    I think Kaitlyn was crying
    because she felt stupid
    and to tell you the truth
    I felt stupid, too,
    because even though
    those were nice little thingies
    that Mr. William Carlos Williams said
    about the sweet plums
    and the old lady
    and even though I could see
    little pictures
    in my mind
    when you were reading
    the plum poems
    it would be very very hard
    to explain to my uncle Bill
    why those are poems
    and not little notes
    scribbled on scrap paper.
    And did you notice that
    Mr. William Carlos Williams
    does NOT use much in the way of
    ALLITERATION
    or
    ONOMATOPOEIA
    or
    SIMILE
    or
    METAPHOR?
    Mm? Did you notice that?

M ARCH 6
    This morning I left
    a note
    for my mother:
THIS IS JUST TO SAY
    I have eaten
    the pudding
    that was in
    the fridge
    and which
    you were maybe
    saving
    for dessert
    Forgive me
    it was so yum
    so thick
    so creamy

M ARCH 7
    Those non-poems
    of
    kookoo Mr. William Carlos Williams
    are running in