It’s all their fault.

The cat rescue folks, that is.

They sent me out to deal with this,

to a site reported to have strays–by the dozens.

Up an old dirt road that almost wasn’t,

where possibly no one had ventured for ages.

Potholes that gulped down tires in stages.

The road was endless, went on forever.

But, eventually, ended.

Abrupt, with a cliff.

No sign whatsoever.

There, thick on the edge,

like crust on a pie,

were more cats than I’d count:

I won’t even try.

A herd of cats. Maybe five or six dozen!

Every fuzz-furry feline,

and all of their cousins.

I came ready, I thought, but that wasn’t the case:

Fifteen carriers would never clear out this place.

Nor the couple cans of tuna to lure them.

More like a convoy of U-Hauls,

and a zoo just to store them.

So, I got out of the car to capture a photos,

for proof later, when they’d say I was loco.

No one would ever believe this!

I walked toward the edge.

Cat’s dashed left and right,

Fleeing under a hedge.

The one’s too distracted, stayed where they were,

preoccupied, mesmerized, humming a purr.

They were right on the edge, peering down over.

Soon, I too, was peering down over the side.

When I saw what was there, I nearly died.

Hundreds and hundreds of pickety bits.

Not specifically one thing, but it sent me into fits.

Rocks, cups, marbles, picture frames

All in great piles—

having been pushed off the edge,

likely, for quite awhile,

by the mysterious instinct of each feral cat!

There were breakables, edibles, mittens, and hats…

Lots of homework.

Retainers.

Hillary’s files.

Hunter’s laptop.

Jewelry. Money in piles.

All those poetry words, perfect but lost.

And now knew where Hoffa’s body was tossed.

Treasure from tombs.

Alexandria’s tomes.

Atlantis!

A dodo!

My mother’s lost locket.

Pan and the Lost Boys

A 10mm socket.

I was ready to go, with photos for proof,

When the cat herd pushed ME to the underside roof,

And while ‘cat’apulted there, dangling and taunt

One more thing caught my eye: Jimmy’s shaker of salt!