Read Hate That Cat Page 1

  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

/>   that look like they would

  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.