I need a little break from Brené at the moment. That post earlier today kicked my ass.

My cat is a wanderer. Of fifty feet. My neighbors have an unfortunate habit of letting him “sneak in” because he’s just so adorable.

He’s our cat. He was there a week this time. She swears they’re not feeding him and I believe her, but someone is because the feeling I get from the face he gives me when I now >plink! plink! plink!< the kibble into his little metal bowl is:

So he leaves. And goes straight to my neighbor’s front door. They are lovely people. They used to have a cat and dog, so they’re pet friendly. They also swear they’re not feeding him. But a week goes by and he ain’t eatin’ here (see pic above to assure you), and he looks:

I’m sorry, that wasn’t any good…

Wait, this… 

Gak! no, this…

I don’t blame him. His sister is mean to him; she growls and hisses at him. He’s very mellow, she’s a bit uptight.

Murphy tries to mount him or put him in his mouth from time to time, “I dunno, Ma, is he a sex toy or a food?” he queries.

The kids are loud here and when he goes over there, it’s like a spa. Candles are glowing, the hum of the fridge is the only sound, maybe a ticking clock in the distant background…

Shit, maybe I should go over there. So instead of going to yoga today, I wrote a poem.

So I present unto you this (and I can’t stop thinking in verse now):

=-=-=

ode to kitty:

dear prodigal kitty with your eyes green and pretty
you’d been missing a week, it was hard.

upon a neighbor’s couch microfiber
you fancied yourself suburban tiger
while the boy who adores
fear’d you’d gone very far.

it’s not your fault that you wandered
it’s the rules you had squandered
when the call of wet food and low noise cast their allure

your sister did not miss you,
she threw no mauls nor she hiss’d you
but we blame our daft neighbors, we endure

for it was their move to keep you
safe and warm and “not feed” you
which we believed not a beat when t’was uttered

what did you dine on?
while your boys they did pine on
was your kibble so moist and well buttered?

. . .

“i don’t want a new pet; can do without hassle”
she said as Dad swept you away, flying dutch
“then why days if no hassle, yet over here! in your castle?”
he asked with your big bod in his clutch

she urged protestations
continued on manifestations
of neither her blame
her account, nor respons’bil’ity

his response: “ ’tis the rules of the ‘hood
neither bad, neither good
t’which we adhere and that keep civility:

do not take in other’s kitties
not on farms, burgs or cities
when their home is scant paw-steps away”

of it he regaled as he walked in our door,
“t’was nothing real, it all, just a bore
she cried ’twas not my touch! do not blame me for such!’
gah! ears tire for she protested too much.”

stay home here big gray kitty
do not go in that door
which she widely holds open and claims you sneak in
we all know far better,
it’s their food that is wetter
which you eat far too much to be thin.

thank you.