Ode to the Middle Cat

As Fafnir guarded the hoard of the Niebelungen
As Cerberus watched unblinking over the Gates of Hades
So Vinca exercises ceaseless vigilance over the toilet.
Paws tucked discreetly under her bosom,
She waits. She meditates -- nay, broods -- under the porcelain shadow.
When someone arrives to worship, then
What exultation.
She offers up her vast snowy belly in tribute,
Stretches her truncated, taloned hands
Toward the votary, as if to say
"You are welcome here, pilgrim."
She yodels a little when the pleasure
Of the great rite you share becomes too much to bear in silence.

When Vinca, undisputed priestess of the water closet, is shut out of the sanctuary,
She supplicates with pale slender arms
Waving like anemones under the door,
Claws gesticulating piteously.
Let in, she delicately insinuates herself between the offerant
And the lid, and with due reverence
Tastes the nub of rubber that keeps the seat
From vulgar clacking when it is shut.

When Vinca goes to heaven
(As she must, being a dutiful cat
And passionate in her vocation),
Sweet fountains shall stream more rapture
Than St. Teresa pierced ever knew,
And before the altar of her Lord
(Whose robes are white and shadowy
And embossed with little gold angelfish)
She shall lie swooning with delight
On the celestial linoleum.

O, that we all might
Receive such rich rewards
As our just desserts.