Cats Don't Do Geometry
by
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Cats Don't Do Geometry One morning early, I was wakened by a purr I probably am foolish to rub the critter's head When cats sleep together, all comfortable and dense, Humanfolk are far more brittle, somewhat like lengths of wood-- Cats have lots of self-esteem, they don't care that they're small;
Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but can one teach feline dudes A Doodling Doggerel Dawdle You cannot pet a doggerel; it will not give a bark. Not Quite All Together The aging jock decided on a stringent low-fat diet, Yes, he really looks resplendent in an athletic way, Yes, the fat between your ears you can never take away; For true thinking isn't easy; it's a task that's full of gruel; Keeping Things Light I don't wish to sing praises of things artificial, But a questioning greeting like "How is it going?" My abrupt "Hi" makes me seem a bit callow, In Black Granite Next time you go to Washington, walk down along the Mall The wall recalls the steadfast souls of my generation-- But fate stepped in to rescue me from combat's brutal game; In quiet reflections on time's long and twisting trace, If it is the latter case--a thought that does unsettle-- A Gem in the Rough Ah, to pull a gem from life, Unexpected Visitors Needn't Mean All is Lost Even though you would be totally embarrassed for a day Tables may be strewn with articles from newspapers and magazines If you fear guests will leave your home feeling astonishment A Kindly Kindred Spirit I met a fellow colleague going down a lighted stairwell. He chuckled as he nodded in his wry and friendly way: So no matter where we wind up in this muddled messy life, Is t
emanating loudly from a big fat thing of fur.
"I sure am glad he's happy!" said I with heavy head,
"The little beggar's stretched himself lengthwise across the bed!"
That's why I'm in the middle, not where I'm supposed to be--
And why my wife is upset that she's twisted like a tree.
when late at night he jumps up onto my side of the bed.
I sleep while he is peacefully a-lying on a ledge;
and then he starts his pushing like a durned infernal wedge.
they lie atop each other; and none will take offense.
I guess it has to do with their supple spinal cords
that allow them all to tangle up in big ol' fuzzy hordes.
and twisting our ol' bony spines won't do us any good.
That's why we have designed our beds to lay so flat and comfy
so we won't have to toss and turn and get up cross and grumpy.
That's why they're so oblivious to things called length and width
and really quite impervious to when we groan and bitch.
the elementary principles of lat- and longitude?
And though it rhymes with "froggerel," it will not even jump.
Still, it will come when you're sleepless in the dark--
Or while you're sitting dumbfounded or feckless like a lump.
No, doggerel's not a single thing--it's something that's like song.
And so I'll sit here dawdling 'til the next one comes along.
Although he was reluctant, even somewhat loathe, to try it.
But now that he's been on it, no one would dare deny
That he's tight and tough and svelte, but not cool or very shy.
And he feels so strong and virile as he did in younger days.
But there still is something missing; it's becoming ever clear
That there's been no loss at all in the fat between his ears.
It grows ever more persistent with each thoughtless idle day.
'Cause the mind becomes all spongy and attention goes away,
And you never can recover when the logic goes astray.
And if you don't stay hard at it, you will lose a priceless tool.
So, though looks can be deceiving as you go through all the years,
There's no way of camouflaging the fat between your ears.
But there's merit in being a bit superficial.
A snappy "Good Morning," "Hi," or "Hello"
Cuts down on a lot of oratorical flow.
You don't have to be bothered with rhetorical flak,
'Cause only a "Hello" or "Hi" will come back.
Can set off all manner of gibberish flowing.
Then you'll be bogged down for quite a long while,
When you could have been gone with a wink or a smile.
But deep down inside, I'm more content shallow.
And visit the memorial--the one they call "the wall."
In somber remembrance, the black wall does intone
Names of fifty-seven thousand dead in highly polished stone.
Though now their time's remembered with but little veneration.
In those stark days, I was trained in military gear
For whatever lay in wait for me on combat's trail of tears.
I often think that but for that, the wall would hold my name.
It's fitting to contemplate the one who took my place.
I hope that he lives happily in brightly sunlit halls--
And is not there among the ones whose names are on the wall.
I pray that I'll have lived a life that's worthy of his mettle.
But fate's not mine to recognize: it's known to God alone
And hidden in the mystery that lies in polished stone.
for all your world to see . . .
To live to pull a gem from life,
'twould set your spirit free . . .
If you could pull a gem from life,
in sun or on dreary morn,
Then before you met your Maker
you might know why you were born.
for anyone to drop in for an unannounced visit--
because your house is a mess and in total disarray--
all is not lost if you have a restful place to sit.
in your den, dining room, kitchen, and living room.
And your fireplace mantel may be cluttered with dusty figurines,
and the refrigerator festooned with Sunday cartoons.
about the unkempt and dusty vistas of your domicile,
then take these words of admonishment:
There is one hope of relief from your feelings of doom--
but only if you've cleaned your bathroom.
For if they've had occasion to stop there awhile,
they may long remember, without blanching wan:
"At least there was a clean john."
It won't be long from now, we'll face a worker's final farewell.
I said, "It's always good to see you, 'cause they treat you just like me--
They've really got us buried where the light we'll never see."
"Yes, the thing that keeps us going as we live from day to day
Is the knowledge, as we go on in this mindless drudgery,
That we've got lots of company in our mundane misery."
We can often find some solace 'mid the struggle and the strife.
And the secret of much hope--if only we will hear it--
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About the Book
Misfortune and injustice are parts of life, but that doesn’t mean we have to be cynical! In Cats Don’t Do Geometry, humorist and poet Carl Anderson pokes fun at much of today’s prevailing wisdom and presents some alternative ways of looking at things. It all begins with a study of cats and other fuzzy friends and how our relationships with them can improve our lives immensely. Anderson worked in the bureaucratic federal government system for over thirty years, which gave him plenty of time to observe human behavior—good and bad. Much of his wisdom spawned from this, including the benefits of hypocrisy, belief or disbelief in God, and even how to drive safely and with less stress. Most importantly, though, Anderson reminds us to keep cracking jokes, no matter what life throws our way. Although there is much to be skeptical about, we need to overcome cynicism and negativity in order to achieve our higher purpose. Life is meant to be lived well, even when we have unexpected houseguests or when our underwear doesn’t fit. Cuddle up with a loved one—including furry friends—and turn sarcasm into a smile.
About the Author
Carl W. Anderson grew up in the Washington, D.C. area. Drafted into the US Army, he spent fourteen months near Korea’s demilitarized zone before gaining employment with the federal government. He earned his MBA from George Washington University. Of all his accomplishments, he is most proud of his relationship with his stepson and stepdaughter.