On Standby
Sorry.
I thought I was dismissed.
But halfway down the stairs
I get the call.
Not shrill and insistent,
but a clear directive.
I return as requested. Maybe you
want to snuggle before taking a nap.
I sit on the bed and watch
you wash your face.
Not snuggling. What?
I wait.
Then you leave the room
without a backward glance.
Silence.
Then scratch, scratch, scratch.
Ah!
I smile and wait for your
decidedly shrill and insistent call
To come
and clean your litter box.
Now.
You had me on standby.
A Tribute
Missey reminded me of the miracle of life.
I don’t know why she evoked this wonder.
She was a cat. She didn’t talk philosophy.
She wasn’t a kitten newly born. She had
some years on her.
Yet following her silky, flowing body
as she led me to her food bar, her
smorgasbord of dried and drying delicacies,
I was filled with wonder.
Ten pounds of silk and sinew flowed before me
fully attuned to the present moment and confident
I would meet her every need.
Thank you, Mom, for bequeathing her to me.
She was a living testament to you.
She carried memories of your house in the hill
where sunshine was a part of the furniture.
Where flowers and sunrises were part of the decor.
The only decor you cared about as you tatted
lacy art, creating beauty for others to enjoy.
I remember you telling me about Missey as a kitten
grabbing a ball of yarn and running with it through
the house, tangling furniture and herself, making
you laugh until you cried.
And I cry now, remembering Missey, remembering you.
You were so remarkable that as a young girl
I feared comparison until I came to a place
where comparison was irrelevant and uniqueness
was apparent.
Today there is pain and loss, and a desire to describe you.
To capture your throaty laugh, your voice that echoes
in my bones. Your Independent spirit that defied
conventions, but was generous and self-sacrificing.
And intelligent. I remember coming home from college
and telling you about studying anti-matter. You were
not surprised. You had read about it in the science
section of TIME magazine.
There’s more than one way to get an education.
Your way was cheaper. I was proud of you, even
as you were of me.
Although Missey is gone now, your rugs adorn my floors,
your tatted and crocheted art hangs on my walls and
lies on my bed.
You adorn my heart. Amidst the pain, there is much joy.
Thanks, Mom.
My Mother’s Cat
My furry inheritance
lies on my lap
feigning indifference.
She has become accustomed
to a new schedule, and is
gradually taking ownership.
I suspect she’s secretly
contemplating her next
takeover move.
First it was an
antique smoking bench,
then my favorite chair.
Whatever is next,
I surrender to the contented
rumble beneath my hand.
Syncopation
When a cat napping in sunlight
stirs and stretches,
walks casually across the room,
Stars smile.
The rhythm of the cat’s elegant
movement mirrors the music in
their own slow dance across time.
Cat Nap
Turn my tummy
up to the sky.
Don’t know why.
Sleep.
