Agustus

The Athleticism of Augustus

Augustus—called Gus by his friends and his kin—

Is a tom of considerable size,

With a big patch of grey on his white-coated skin

And the strangest, most Siamese blue in his eyes.

His face is a mask of grey dapplings and white,

Like a harlequin caught between costumes mid-change,

And his tail—ah, his tail!—is a raccoon's delight,

Ringed grey and white, borrowed from Henrietta's strange

And wandering bloodline. She gave him that mark,

That bandit-tailed flourish, that flag of her breed,

And Sonny, his father, that beauty of dark,

Gave him something else: an athlete's own creed.

For Gus is a mover, a leaper, a runner,

He ranges the territory wide as he please,

He scales every fence post, a natural stunner,

All supple and strong, taking fences with ease.

He's built like a boxer but moves like a dancer,

His muscles are liquid beneath that white coat,

And if you should ask him what makes him the answer

To physical prowess—he'd not even gloat.

But watch him with Clementine, tiny beside him,

His wee little sister, that slip of a thing—

He's gentle. He's sweet. And wherever you'd find him,

She's likely nearby, tucked beneath his broad wing.

They hang out together, the giant, the small,

The blue-eyed and green-eyed, the hulk and the wisp,

And Gus, for all his roaming and ranging and all,

Keeps watch on his sister. Their bond is crisp.

Now somewhere there's Kitty Boo Boo, that proud scrapper,

His half-brother (maybe full brother, who knows?),

Another ass-kicker, another proud yapper

At foxes and rivals. It's how the blood flows.

For Henrietta's line breeds them tough and them able,

And Sonny's dark grace threads through all of their ways,

And Gus is the proof on four legs, strong and stable,

Blue-eyed and bandit-tailed, lord of his days.

So here's to Augustus, that athlete supreme,

Who roams the wide world but returns to his sister,

Whose raccoon-ringed tail and whose Siamese gleam

Remind us: the wild ones are not to be missed, or

Dismissed, or forgotten. They carry their pride

In the arch of their backs and the blue of their eyes. And Gus? He carries it wide.

Ever so wide.

Beneath those big skies.