I
Last Tuesday,
Tripod,
Our voracious, runty, crippled, stinky cat,
Missed breakfast.
Simply disappeared.
Unprecedented!
Alert to frantic mews,
I toured the local alleys,
Anxious, desperate, teary.
Wednesday, my appetite,
Like Tripod, vanished,
While I searched
(Detritus of unforgiving wheels?),
Dreading what I’d find.
Well after dark,
He reappeared,
Staggered in,
Unhurt, but famished.
Astonishing!
Not only his miraculous return,
But my replenished appetite,
And dried eyes,
All in half a moment.
II
One can, of course,
Avoid such psychic pain.
Find a modest room,
Windowless,
Painted pleasantly,
Equipped with water,
Toilet, small fridge,
Chair, table,
And a slot for food—
But no cats, birds, or dogs,
No phone or radio,
And certainly no TV.
There reside
(Immune to toxic moods
Anguish-spawned),
Serene.
(4/13/09)