Lit Mag Poetry

Cats can See Demons

My mother told me that cats can see demons.

Cats, of all things! Why them?

Cats, the little creatures that roam around,

Waving their tails high in the air as they prance,

Putting one paw forward, step step stepping,

Acting as though they’re at the top of the hierarchy.

But they aren’t, are they?
They couldn’t possibly be higher than us,

The humans, the ones that bought them.

They’re just pets to owners.

So no, cats can’t see demons,

And even though my cats sit and stare

At the ceilings and the vents, and the walls

At the lights that aren’t on, 

Sitting, staring, meow meow meowing,

So fixated on something that’s right there,

Right in front of them.

But whatever it is, it sure as hell isn’t a demon.

After all, how could a cat see something like that?

What is a demon anyways?

Is it something tangible that could even be seen?
A person, a place, a thing?

Sometimes I think my own cats are demons,

Or at least they’re possessed by them.

What else could explain the way

They meow at the ceilings and the vents and the walls

At the lights that aren’t on,

Or spin spin spinning around in circles, chasing their tails.

I thought only dogs did that.

My cats must be kinda dumb.

Maybe that’s the reason they’re sitting and staring,

Sitting and staring.

They’re just dumb. Do they need another reason?

Do we need a reason?

Does anything?

I think just feeling like doing something is reason enough.

Or maybe that’s something I shouldn’t say? I’m not sure.

Sometimes I think I’m kinda dumb too.

I still think that, even. 

I wonder what the point is in trying when I’m too dumb to understand.

Are the cats also too dumb to understand?

Do they know what it is they’re doing?
Those poor little creatures, with nothing to do

But sit, stare, and sleep all day.

I catch myself staring at the ceiling or the walls,

Well, never the vents. I never stare at those.

Who knows what’s in those vents?

Sometimes I worry that if I stare at those vents

I’ll find a pair of eyes, staring right back.

Stare stare staring.

Maybe I’m just paranoid.

Maybe I’m worried that the cats really can see demons,

And I constantly look around for some hint of their existence.

Something to blame for all my troubles.

Something to distract me from everything else.

Something called a demon.

Do I really want to know if they exist?

Would that really make things better?

Maybe it’s better to not know.

But the cats know, don’t they?

The cats would know that something is there

Watching me while I sleep

Peeking in through the window or hiding under the bed,

Ready to grab my ankles as I run up the stairs.

Does that make them smart or dumb?

Maybe one day I should listen to them.

Know what they know.
See what they see.

But cat’s can’t see demons,

And demons aren’t real.

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