Poet describes the activities of February and further narrates the tussle between his cat and a tomcat. Paraphrase: Winter is a time to eat pork and watch hockey. The black cat with yellow eyes leaps over on my bed each morning and reaches to my head. In this way, he notifies me whether I am alive or dead. While taking his breath that smells like burped-up meat and decaying stuffy sofas and buzzing like washboard, he inhabits on my chest.
In the meanwhile, another tomcat who is not so sturdy is seen squirting at the entrance and declaring war. It is all a matter of gender or land that will ultimately ruin us sooner or later. Masters of these tomcats should cut the male sex organs of these cats. If we human beings are too wise, we should do the same or like sharks, should eat our children but its affection that kills human. Tomcat repeatedly shouts and famine shrinks lying on the bed and attacking quilt.
Temperature decreases to minus 30 and smoke vents out of chimney to provide warmth. February is a month of dejection (with a skewered heart in the centre. ) I deem of terrible thoughts, desire for potato chips with speckled vinegar. Cat, these thoughts are enough for your purring and for your tiny bumhole. Get out of my face. You are essentially life phenomenon, so you live on a little hope. Throw away death. Commemorate boost. Craft spring out of it (February)