The Nonsense of Paddle Paws

I love language which, at first glance, makes no sense, but which captures a feeling or an image more effectively that a conventional word or phrase. A good example is ‘Jabberwocky’: It is full of Lewis Carroll’s invented words and phrases that combine to create an alternative, and yet familiar world. No-one knows what `brillig’ is or what ‘slithy toves’ are, or how they ‘gyre and gimble in the wabe’, but the words conjure up a vivid and real picture. I recently watched Dotty (the Salty Sea Cat) making her evening patrol of the orchard and field. She was in full hunting mode, focussed on finding field mice. A wind-blown leaf triggered her stealth setting and she lowered her suspension to ground level, silently extending one paw in front of the other, as she approached her ‘prey’. Then it happened: Her back legs moved rhythmically up and down, testing the ground before leaping. Is she assessing the stability of her 'launch pad' or toning her muscles? The true purpose of that entertaining manoeuvre is known only to the cat, although many theories abound. Later that evening, I decided to write a poem about Dotty’s hunting forays, and how I attempt to thwart her evening’s entertainment by keeping her indoors overnight. I needed a word or phrase to describe her pre-pounce action, and finding ‘wiggle’ too tame, came up with my own nonsense phrase: ‘paddle paws’.