Thursday, November 28, 2013

On My 75th Birthday

I thought Life would be kinder.
I thought this one would be really special.

The cat won’t eat or come out of the closet
Where he lies, paws crossed, like a lion
with accusing eyes. He overheard my thoughts.
(How can I explain that he is to die
Before I do? It is the way of things.)

How can I explain that love is not
Something you say over and over
Like a mantra, hoping it takes
But is more like a steady diet
Of Fancy Feast, and tender care
Not just some days, but every day
While the world around us kicks.

I think I would like to curl up
On the closet floor with Henry. We
Could tell each other lies like cats do
With their eyes, purring prevarications
And hoping that we both get well
While the world around us rages.

Some species are meant to be alone
Untangled from the day to day,
The senseless rites of posturing, of
Neediness and righteousness.
Some species see love as a continuum
That doesn’t take sides or insist
On its own way. Some species would
Like to melt in trust and certainty
For once in their life without looking
Out for that inevitable big kicking foot.


  1. I really like this one, Bev. I've always felt like a cat in a human suit, but you've expressed this feeling much better.

  2. Replies
    1. Henry couldn't be better unless he was younger. I figure he's at least 15, if not older,
      and certainly a happy cat no matter where he is.