Cats Don't Do Geometry is a collection of mostly humorous verse in which Carl Anderson pokes fun at much of today's prevailing wisdom and presents some alternative ways of looking at things. It is perhaps unusual for a poetry book in that Anderson has arranged the poems--which he characterizes as "doggerel"--according to subject matter, instead of distributing them randomly throughout the book. Anderson says he did this because under the random format, some of his early reviewers misconstrued his intent. Many of the poems are somewhat cynical in tone, but Anderson does not advocate cynicism: "Misfortune and injustice impose themselves on all of us to various and sometimes outrageous degrees. Although I think there is much to be skeptical about in life, we need to overcome cynicism and negativity. This is necessary to achieve either our own goals or higher purposes in life. And that's what Cats Don't Do Geometry is really about."
The first part of the book touches on our relationships with cats and other critters and provides a fuzzy warm-up for the themes covered in later parts. Some of the themes include: "An Educated Fool is Nevertheless a Fool. So Is an Old Fool"; "Do You Believe in God? . . . Does God Believe in You?"; "Love--Some of Us Just Can't Get It Right."; and "Do We Get Out of This Life Alive?"
Along the way, Anderson has tried to provide some helpful information for everyday life. Some examples:
Cats Don't Do Geometry
One morning early, I was wakened by a purr
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.
I probably am foolish to rub the critter's head
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.
When cats sleep together, all comfortable and dense,
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.
Humanfolk are far more brittle, somewhat like lengths of wood--
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.
Cats have lots of self-esteem, they don't care that they're small;
they're totally most unimpressed that compared to them, we're tall.
That's why they're so oblivious to things called length and width
and really quite impervious to when we groan and bitch.
Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but can one teach feline dudes
the elementary principles of lat- and longitude?
A Doodling Doggerel Dawdle
You cannot pet a doggerel; it will not give a bark.
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.
Not Quite All Together
The aging jock decided on a stringent low-fat diet,
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.
Yes, he really looks resplendent in an athletic way,
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.
Yes, the fat between your ears you can never take away;
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.
For true thinking isn't easy; it's a task that's full of gruel;
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.
Keeping Things Light
I don't wish to sing praises of things artificial,
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.
But a questioning greeting like "How is it going?"
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.
My abrupt "Hi" makes me seem a bit callow,
But deep down inside, I'm more content shallow.
In Black Granite
Next time you go to Washington, walk down along the Mall
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.
The wall recalls the steadfast souls of my generation--
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.
But fate stepped in to rescue me from combat's brutal game;
I often think that but for that, the wall would hold my name.
In quiet reflections on time's long and twisting trace,
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.
If it is the latter case--a thought that does unsettle--
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.
A Gem in the Rough
Ah, to pull a gem from life,
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.
Unexpected Visitors Needn't Mean All is Lost
Even though you would be totally embarrassed for a day
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.
Tables may be strewn with articles from newspapers and magazines
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.
If you fear guests will leave your home feeling astonishment
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."
A Kindly Kindred Spirit
I met a fellow colleague going down a lighted stairwell.
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."
He chuckled as he nodded in his wry and friendly way:
"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."
So no matter where we wind up in this muddled messy life,
We can often find some solace 'mid the struggle and the strife.
And the secret of much hope--if only we will hear it--
Is to keep on cracking jokes with a kindly kindred spirit.
