THE MENTOR

Written
1994

 My mentor is mighty and wise.

He taught me to not wear black,

       sit without looking,

       and to appear uninterested when

      offered the deal of the century. 

My mentor made me aware

      of every movement 

      and like him,

      I spot each blowing leaf.

Full mooned spring nights beckon me.

And from him

       I learned the sense of power

       from hiding behind flowering plants. 

His eyes are always on me.

They remind me of the obligation

       accepted when I became his student. 

I defend him

       from accusations from those

       who claim they are allergic to him. 

My mentor's teaching technique is simple.

When he wants me to do something,

       he just looks at me.

He seldom says anything.

But when he does,

       it is so demanding that I oblige him.

He is gifted with instructional eyes.

And when I awaken,

       he is looking at me

       as if he hadn't been slept all night.

Without a word he lets me know what he wants.

Breakfast is his first priority .

It becomes mine. 

My mentor rubs my leg when I do well.

The sound of his praise is enough

       to spur me on to greater efforts.

When my morning lesson is over

     he searches for a bed

     with a bit of sun.

And even asleep he dominates

       with head hanging off the sofa,

       and legs pointed to the sky.

His posture an arrogant tribute

       to control over his world.

I've thought about getting another mentor.

And he threatens

      to get another student.

Such is our mutual bluff.

We are bonded.

Mentor to student

       Cat to man.

Notes
Just a fun poem about my cat of the time. I suspect it was Mao, but it is true of all my cats. Raton is much like this.