by Jane Kenyon
Like primitives we buried the cat
with his bowl. Bare-handed
we scraped sand and gravel
back in the hole.
They fell with a hiss
and thud on his side,
on his long red fur, the white feathers
between his toes, and his
long, not to say aqualine, nose.
We stood and brushed each other off.
There are sorrows keener than these.
Silent the rest of the day, we worked,
ate, stared, and slept. It stormed
all night, now it clears, and a robin
burbles from a dripping bush
like a neighbor who means well
but always says the wrong thing.
This poem made me teary. I must must be tired, or in one of those moods.
On a happy side, today I spotted a ginger cat in the garage where I feed Handsome Stranger, a neutered feral cat. Ginger is feral also; Red and I caught him a few years ago and took him to the vet to be neutered and have a physical and his first set of shots. When he first found him, Red put him in the bathroom (so he couldn't hide under furniture) so he could show him to me. When I got home, I went in there to find him, and couldn't find the cat. In a bathroom. Until I looked up, and there he sat in a corner triangular soap dish, about five feet from the floor of our walk-in shower. He weighed about ten pounds at the time. It was obvious he was not going to be happy as a pet cat, so we turned him loose. He hung around for a couple of days then disappeared.
It's good to see him back, and looking healthy. Maybe he'll stay as company for Handsome.
["The Blue Bowl" via Poetry 180]
[Illustration from Amazing Pets.co.uk]
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