Hate That Cat
Sharon Creech
Dedication
For
all you cat lovers out there
and
all you cat haters, too
With special thanks to
Walter Dean Myers
Christopher Myers
Joanna Cotler
Karen Nagel
Alyson Day
and to all the poets
and Mr.-and-Ms. Stretchberrys
who inspire students every day
Contents
Dedication
September 12
September 13
September 14
September 19
September 21
September 26
October 3
October 10
October 12
October 16
October 17
October 18
October 19
October 22
October 24
November 13
November 20
November 21
November 27
November 30
December 4
December 6
December 11
December 13
December 14
December 17
December 18
December 19
December 20
December 21
January 3
January 4
January 8
January 10
January 14
January 17
January 24
January 31
February 7
February 11
February 14
February 21
February 25
February 28
March 6
March 7
March 13
March 14
March 21
March 26
March 27
March 28
March 31
April 2
April 11
April 18
April 25
May 2
May 5
May 9
May 16
May 19
May 23
June 5
Books on the Class Poetry Shelf
Excerpt from Love That Dog December 4
December 13
January 10
January 17
January 24
January 31
About the Author
Books by Sharon Creech
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
JACK
ROOM 204—MISS STRETCHBERRY
SEPTEMBER 12
I hate that cat
like a dog hates a rat
I said I hate that cat
like a dog hates a rat
Hate to see it in the morning
hate to see that
F A T black cat.
SEPTEMBER 13
Sorry
I didn’t know
you liked cats.
Didn’t know
you have one.
SEPTEMBER 14
More poetry?
You probably think
we will remember
what we learned
last year, right?
What if we don’t remember?
What if our brains shrunk?
What if it’s too hard?
But I am glad
you are my teacher
again.
I hope you will
keep moving up
a grade
every year
along with me.
You understand
my
brain.
SEPTEMBER 19
No, I can’t write any more
about my dog Sky.
Maybe all of the words
about Sky
flew out of my head
last year.
I think about him
all the time
and I see him
in my mind
and some of his yellow fur
is still on my yellow chair
and sometimes I think
I hear him
uh-rum, uh-rum
that sound he made
when he was happy.
But no, I can’t write about Sky
a-n-y-m-o-r-e.
Maybe I could write about
a cat
a mean cat
a crazy mean fat black cat.
Although . . . my uncle Bill
who is a teacher
in a college
said those words I wrote
about Sky
were NOT poems.
He said they were just
words
coming
out
of
my
head
and that a poem has to rhyme
and have regular meter
and SYMBOLS and METAPHORS
and onomoto-something and
alliter-something.
And I wanted
to
punch
him.
SEPTEMBER 21
Another thing Uncle Bill said
was that my lines should be
l - o - n - g - e - r
like in real writing
But here is what happens when I try to make them longer the page is too wide and the words get all mumble jumbled and it makes my eyes hurt all that white space the edge of the page so far away and in order to get all the words down that are coming out of my head I have to forget the commas and periods or I have to go back and stick, them in, all over, the place, like this, which looks, if you ask me, stupid, but if you write short lines, a person knows where to breathe, short or long, and I hate to read, those long lines, and I don’t want, to write them, either.
SEPTEMBER 26
I wish you would tell
my uncle Bill
all those things you said today
about our own rhythms
and our own IMAGES
bouncing around in our words
and making them POEMS.
And yes I understand
that if I am ever the
President of the United States
I might be expected to write
very very long lines
but in the meantime
I can make my lines
short
short
short
if I want to.
But even if you told
my uncle Bill
all that stuff
he wouldn’t believe you.
He likes to argue.
My mother likes my
short
lines.
She runs her fingers
down them
and then
taps
her lips
once, twice.
And I think I understood
what you said about
onomoto-something
and alliter-something
not HAVING to be
in a poem
and how sometimes
they ENRICH a poem
but sometimes
they can also make a poem
sound purple.
Purple!
Ha ha ha.
OCTOBER 3
Okay, okay, okay
I will learn how to spell
ALLITERATION
and
ONOMATOPOEIA
(right?)
and I will practice them
just in case I ever
need them
to ENRICH
something.
Ready?
Um.
Um.
I can’t do it.
Brain frozen.
First you need to have
something to write about.
You can’t just
alliterate
and
onomatopoeiate
all over the place
can you?
OCTOBER 10
I felt like there were
feathers in my brain
when you brought out those
objects
and we practiced doing
ALLITERATION
on them
like with the
purple pickle
and the
polished pencil
and the
chocolate chalk
but
the pickle was not purple
and the pencil was not polished
and the chalk was not chocolate
so
my uncle Bill would probably say
we are WRONG
even though it is fun
to imagine
a purple pickle
a polished pencil
and chocolate chalk.
OCTOBER 12
Something I am wondering:
if you cannot hear
do words have no sounds
in your head?
Do you see
a
silent
movie?
OCTOBER 16
So much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow . . .
The wheelbarrow poem again?
Did you forget we read it last year?
Okay, here’s one:
So much depends upon
a creeping cat
crouched in the tree
beside the yellow bus stop.
(I bet you’re going to ask me
“Why does so much depend upon
a creeping cat?”
Right?
Remember:
the wheelbarrow guy
didn’t say why
so much depended upon
the red wheelbarrow and
those white chicky chickens.)
OCTOBER 17
ONOMATOPOEIA
made my ears frizzle
today.
All that buzz buzz buzz
and
pop! pop!
and
drip and tinkle and trickle—
the sounds are still
buzzing and popping
in my head.
And the bells bells bells
in that poem you read
by Mr. Poe
(is he alive?)
all those bells bells bells
all those tinkling and jingling
and swinging and ringing
and rhyming and chiming
and clanging and clashing
and tolling and rolling
all those bells bells bells
and that tintinnabulation
what a word!
Tintinnabulation!
I only understood about half
the words in that poem
but like you said
sometimes that is okay
because we felt all those
bells
and we heard all those
bells
crazily ringing in their
tintinnabulation!
But I bet my uncle Bill
wouldn’t like Mr. Poe’s
bell poem.
My uncle Bill would probably say
that Mr. Poe repeats himself too much
and needs to find a synonym for bells
but I don’t care
I love all those bells bells bells.
I thought of some more
onomatopoeia words:
gurgle
burble
wiggle.
Are those right?
And what about
purr purr purr?
And did your cat
really have kittens?
I don’t really like
creepy cats.
You should get
a delightful dog.
OCTOBER 18
Something I am wondering:
if you cannot hear
what happens when you read
purr purr purr
or gurgle
or chocolate chalk?
Can you somehow
feel
the purr purr purr
the gurgle
the chocolate chalk?
Do you feel the sounds
instead of
hear them?
OCTOBER 19
THE YIPS
(INSPIRED BY MR. EDGAR ALLAN POE)
BY JACK
Hear the dogs with their yips
squeaky yips!
What a funny squeaking sound
coming from their lips!
How they ripple ripple ripple
in the shadow of a pickle
In the yipyipabulation
through the air
from the yip yip yip yip
yip yip yip
from the squeaking and the rippling
of the yips.
(P.S. I’m not quite sure how that
pickle got in there.)
OCTOBER 22
If you could not hear
you wouldn’t hear
all those funny yip yip yips
but you could see the dog
bouncing his head up and down
his mouth flapping
and maybe you would get the idea
that he was making
the same sound
over and over.
Maybe.
But how would you even know
what
sound
is?
OCTOBER 24
I like Maggie’s buzz poem
you put on the board
on that orange paper
and yes
you can put my yip poem
up there
and you can put
my name on it
too.
In my head are so many
bells and buzzes and yips
all jingling and clanking around
bumping into each other.
Very noisy in my head.
If you cannot hear
it must be so
quiet
in your head.
How are your purr purr kittens?
I would write a purr poem
except that I don’t really like
C
A
T
S.
NOVEMBER 13
When you read that kitten poem
by Miss Valerie Worth
(is she alive?)
I could see that black kitten
dancing sidewise and leaping
and crouching with
her eyes round as oranges
and I could see that black kitten
pouncing with her cactus claws
on a piece of fluff.
It made me laugh,
that black kitten.
It reminded me of my dog Sky
how he would dance around
a skittering leaf
as if it were alive
and he would cock his head
and wag his tail
and scoot backwards
and then yip and pounce
on the fluttery leaf.
He made me laugh, that Sky.
And I hate to admit it
but the kittens you brought
to class
were not creepy.
I’m not saying
I like cats
(dogs are much much better)
but those kittens
were fantastically funny
the way they were
skittering around
and purrrrrrrrrring.
I guess I never saw
a kitten up close before
only big creepy cats
love to scratch you.
NOVEMBER 20
I told my dad
about those furry kittens
you brought in to school
and he asked me
if I would like one
and I said
no no no no no.
He is coming to parent conferences
tonight
and I just wanted you to know
that I said
no no no no no.
NOVEMBER 21
Why?
Because kittens grow up
to be cats
and what do cats do?
Do they play ball with you
or jump up on you
and lick your face
all slobbery kissy
to show you
they love love love you?
I know one fat black cat
(I hate that cat)
who is meaner than mean
(I hate that cat).
And besides
even if you had a nice cat
that you loved
it might run outside
and into the street
and get
squished
by a car
going fast
with many many miles to go
before it sleeps.
Or it could get
sick
really really sick
and never get better.
Or it could
run away
or
get lost
and end up
somewhere
else.
I hope I did not hurt
your feelings
but cats are cats
and dogs are dogs.
P.S. Thank you for saying
nice things about me
to my dad last night.
He liked my yip poem
up on the wall
and he likes you, too.
