Tuesday
To have a cat
dying
in the basement, perched
on the green towel we cover the treadmill with
because she has a habit of
throwing up on the black track
preferring
as we do
not to run on it,
while I am am up here
in the clouds
my head, that is,
up in the clouds like a
four-year-old, daydreaming
whatever unpredictable plans
the future has in
store. No,
not like a four-year-old
rather, a writer
I am a writer
whose head is
up in the
clouds, thinking
of—
trying to reflect, reject
the death
happening
beneath
her.
Conceiving ways
for my character to kill another
human without
getting caught.
A writer, who imagines she
can hear her cat
jogging.
Wednesday
She is no longer eating so I buy
Beechnut baby food—beef with broth
Chicken. I boil a bony thigh.
I tell the man at the seafood counter that I am trying to keep my cat alive
“Even the farm-raised salmon is $16.99 a pound? Wow, that’s expensive.”
“It is,” he admits with the surety of a man who knows what things should cost.
but then
He slides a hefty fillet off the ice as if rescuing it from danger
And severs a fractional slice of pink flesh
swirls of fat and bone,
and places it atop a piece of butcher paper, white—is it still called butcher paper,
I wonder,
if one is weighing cold-blooded muscle?
Yes, I really do wonder about this for less time than it takes me to
breathe in one breath,
—air, not water
before he hands me the package, wrapped, and light, and now magically costing
$12.99 a pound.
A deal for a
dying cat.
Wednesday Night
I eat the chicken on top of a salad.
The dear salmon is, regrettably, forsaken.
A few licks of Beechnut calms my worry, but only for so long.
I am beside her, reminiscing. She is struggling to listen,
to stay present, I can tell, but still I talk.
“Bluestar,” I say, “you have had a great life.
The animal rescue
found you strutting down Amsterdam Avenue
in a snowstorm. All your whiskers
had been cut
and you were pregnant!
They called you Sophie.
As if you, Warrior leader of the ThunderClan,
could have ever been a Sophie.”
She nods, as if remembering that hard time
in the city twelve years gone.
Not really, but I continue on as if we are two old friends
One of us in a hospital bed,
connected to machinery, but knowing
time is short.
The other, in a chair, worrying hands
wanting to remake the bed because
the sheets are tangled
and no one should die without smooth sheets.
Or a life that did not include:
-tuna water
-the white fluffy ball (when you lost it we all mourned)
-sunshine on your belly
-Loy
-licking sour cream from a fingertip
-boxes,
no matter the size
Thursday
I lay her atop a blue rug atop a metal table
Like a piece of salmon
She purrs as the doctor—she’s pregnant and for this I am gladdened—pushes
A needle into her fur while, inches away, the faces on the phone
My family, her family, the child and the man
Who happen to be in the city
Her birth city
Watch and cry and we three cry together
Me here
They there
Bluestar beneath my hand, her chest rising slowly slowly
Falling slowly slowly
The purrs diminish
And then
I remove my hand, still warm
and open the door.
Oh Lisa, I don’t know how I missed this piece. I can so relate having put down two wonderful rescue kitties that looked a lot like Bluestar. I got to love them for 16 years and I still think of them often❤️🙏🏻to you
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, love. Yeah, they are here forever those furry kids.
LikeLike
Such a lucky kitty cat to have such poignant prose-adoration in life and the afterlife!
LikeLike
I’m so sorry for your loss. You captured so poignantly the desperation that one feels when their pet is dying. I could relate so well to the buying and preparation of special food. It’s like we have to keep ourselves busy during that awful period while they transition from this world so we don’t drown in grief. Rest well Bluestar.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Joy. You always say the right thing. x
LikeLike
The hardest part of having a pet? Saying goodbye to them after all they have done for us. 😢
LikeLike
Sending hugs. They leave auch an outsized mark on our lives and such holes in our hearts.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, my friend. Yup.
LikeLike
Beautifully written and very moving.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So sad!!! I’m sorry! I know how much you loved her!
Sent from my iPhone
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have been thinking about her all week. Each time I pass by your house I look for her asleep on the bench where she was so often ❤️ Beautiful tribute, Lisa.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I find myself pausing as I walk up the front steps, expecting to see her. Ghost cats linger in our lives for a long time. Thank you, Phiona.
LikeLike
so beautiful and moving. I am sorry for your loss.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh my, Lisa… this broke my heart. What a beautiful piece on the love you have for Bluestar. I think pet loss can be harder than that of humans. Sending you big hugs. xo Emily
LikeLiked by 1 person
I miss her already.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Omg Lisa that is so beautiful. And so terribly sad. I’m so sorry about the loss of your beloved
Sent from my iPhone
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Some kind of horrible serendipity- on my way to put my sweet Zoe to sleep. 16 years. I’m a wreck.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am so sorry, Jamie. I send you and your family lots of love. Furry love.
LikeLike
I’m feeling you. Our precious animal friends hold such a tender spot in our hearts.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
A beautiful poem of beautifully slowed down moments
LikeLiked by 1 person
How very loved was this cherished family member. I am so sorry she is no longer with you. xo
LikeLiked by 1 person
So sorry for your loss, Lisa Xoxo
LikeLiked by 1 person
Incredible.
LikeLiked by 2 people