February

From the beginning words of Margaret Atwood's poem February, it is clear the speaker is not in a celebratory mood. The speaker's apathetic and at times disgusted tone shocks the reader. She, the speaker, obviously has little love in her life, her only companion a cat that she admits could care less if she lived or died. She compares humans to cats, saying that if cats go around getting neutered, why shouldn't humans? The speaker even bashes her own species, saying humans should eat their young. The only reason we do not, you ask? Love. No that the speaker finds any meaning in love, for she bashes over its unappeal. The irony of this self-pitying poem about the uselessness of love is the title, February. February's the month of love, or as this speaker describes it, "month of despair, with a skewered heart in the center " However, the speaker thinks little of love judging by her tone, when not even the warmth of a nice, cozy fire can soothe her, she only complains of the pollution. The final ironic lines occur at the end, when the speaker admonishes the cat for being to pessimistic. The speaker should take some of her own advice, get out of bed, stop talking to cats, and find a guy before she dies and the cat eats her.