Soft Paws

My Imaginary Menagerie

Soft Paws

Her dead mother gave me a message of love.
The sign of its truth would be a cat,
The very next day.
I told her the message,
Told her to watch for that cat.
She was taking a road trip on our island,
After all,
And I know the feral cats congregate
Near the Black Sand Beach.
Her mother left money for the
Humane Society, you know,
With Tiny the cat at her bedside
Till the last,
So it only made sense.
I know my friend's landlords don't allow pets, though.
I ask my husband
If the cat appears to her,
Can we keep it?
I am so sure.
He says no.
Our place has too many fragile things,
Fine optics--
His camera equipment,
His telescope--
I understand.
My friend's road trip happens.
No cat appears.
I am so sorry.
I must have made it up.

The next week
I am all busy and important
But I lost my work key.
I get a copy.
It doesn't work.
Finally, at five o'clock on a Friday,
I have the key.
I might as well wash the work van.
Our baseyard is in an industrial area
On a busy intersection.
Feral chickens roam the parking lot by day,
Feral cats at night.
I see none of them now
But I hear a small meow
Under a parked car.
"Hello, Kitty Wampus!" I say.
(I've always wanted to call a cat that.)
A kitten rushes out
Right up to my feet
Mewing.
I pet it and try to get on with my life.
It lies across my feet.
I can't walk.
I can't pull out the van.
It is friendly and starving.
I call my husband.
I take a picture of the cat
On my feet
Reaching up my legs,
Imploring determination
In its eyes.
"What am I supposed to do?!"
"You know we can't have a cat."
"I know, I know."
I call our neighbor.
She is allergic to cats.
I go to ask my coworker
And see his van pull out of the parking lot,
Heading home.
The only other workplace still open,
A garage,
Has a pit bull in residence.
I call my husband back.
"I can't leave him here.
I'll take him to the Humane Society
In the morning.
Please get some cat food 
And a litter box."
I drive home with a kitten on my lap.
He begins to meow more
When we slow down,
Tries to jump out the closed window.
I take him inside.
He eats and eats.
He uses the litter box.
He pounces at my husband
With soft paws.
He falls asleep in my lap
While I look down at him with sad eyes.
"Okay, okay,"
Says my husband.
"We can keep him."
We can't find him in any lost ads.
My husband protests
When I put in a "Found" ad.
They are best buds now
And forever.