O & P: From Lear to here

“O let us be married
Too long we have tarried”
She spoke, as around her he flew.
So they had a quick wedding,
Shared bath, board and bedding
‘Twas the only marriage they knew.

“My Owl, my dove”
“Oh Pussy, my love”
They were heard all over town
He sang and he cooed
While she purred and meowed
Tucked in their eiderdown.

They shared barn mice for dinner
So neither really got thinner
Oh, but look how alike they were!
They liked their meat raw,
Likened talon to claw
But mixed up their feathers with fur.

“Shine my coat, like your plumes you dress”
“Sure, dear Pussy”, and his beak he would press
Into her tail (One must start at the rear.)
She would holler and howl
At the Owl she would scowl
“Don’t rub me the wrong way, you hear?”

She’d fly into a rage; he’d fly into the night
He seldom knew what to do after a fight.
So he’d sit on a tall branch and wonder.
While she’d fume and she’d say
“This is just not the way.
Can he not understand?” It was beyond her.

“But then, he doesn’t know, that
It’s really different, being a cat.”
So she says, “My love, I understand.”
Tries to make him feel better
Her eyes implore him to pet her
But Dear, oh dear! He has no hand!

So at her neck he pecks away
Unaware of what she is trying to say
Distraught, she saves her tears for the shower.
“It’s not his fault”, she tells herself.
“More like the Owl, I should make myself.
Yes. Perhaps that is the need of the hour.”

So when he calls her “My honey”
She smiles quietly: stoic, not sunny.
(Must not dilate pupils, must certainly not purr.)
“There is something amiss.
I am quite sure of this.”
But he can’t tell what, as he nuzzles her fur.

As the days roll by
She grows quiet and shy
Curls up on her side of the bed as he might wonder
“A penny for your thoughts, please tell me what’s cooking?”
“Oh, nothing, Dear.” A tear when he’s not looking.
Does she think this will all just come asunder?

“Her eyes, they used to dance and swirl.
My fiery, passionate, beloved girl.
Happy, she would rub and purr, when mad she’d always growl.
Oh, such a princess! She used to be bratty.
But now she’s no longer…very catty.
I…(gasp!) think she’s trying to be like an owl!”

He hastens to wake her up and say,
“Oh, tell me, my darling, tell me, pray
Why this distance, this air of reservation?”
“For I love you, my love…whatever that may mean.
But I’m fur, you’re all feathers, and this we have seen.
So to be like and owl…it’s …self-preservation.”

“Sticks and stones
Can break my bones…”
Remember that thing about words you’ve always said?
Like Steiner tells Emma, in La Dolce Vita
We watched, remember, over grilled mouse and margarita
I must harden myself, that’s how I must tread.”

For a while he ponders, he looks in her eyes
What would free her of this, her fowl guise?
He taps his talon – something must be done, but what could it be?
He spreads his wing and draws her near
And quietly, softly, he coos in her ear
“If I promise to be a little more like you, will you be a little less like me?”

At this she purrs, her eyes limpid, alight.
She rolls over on her back in delight
“Forgive me, dear Owl, for I gave you such grief.”
“But I was aloof, I should never have been.
Just a bird’s eye view, I always have seen.
Treasured feline, to be back in your arms is such relief.”

Thus tucked in by his side, blissful she lay
He tickled her belly, she rowred, “fowl play!”
Never again did she ask him to shine her coat.
He brought her bejeweled burrs and fireflies
Said, “My princess, my buttercup, my edelweiss.”
And they set off happily in their beautiful pea green boat.