Cat Lovers Anonymous

Mystie wants to thank everyone

who has called, written, sent her

a card or posted a kind word on

Facebook on behalf of her and

her improving health.  The doctor

at Cornell got her hooked on canned

food, something in which she had

shown no previous interest.  Now,

she can be quite dramatic in the

way she scampers over to her bowls,

looks shocked when her wet food bowl

is empty, looks up at us, licks the already

clean plate, looks back at us.  What

can we do but give her what she

wants— the poor, sweet, skinny little

baby we missed so much and who

was so abandoned by us in the cold

dark isolated hospital at Cornell? 

As Beth Bloom said, she knows

every single one of your buttons.

We have been had.  We are being

played.  We know it, we admit it

and we allow it.  My name is

Elaine and I’m a catalcoholic.

Day Two Without You

Usually, when I am just about halfway

through my breakfast, you approach

the kitchen table, stop, look at me,

but before I can scoop you up and

set you in my lap, or offer you the

other chair, you scamp off toward

the living room—glance back,

scamp, glance, scamp.  This

is your not-so-subtle way

of telling me I have had ample

time with my bagel, and that I

should bring my coffee with me

to Mystie’s Coffee Shop, a section

of the living room, which boasts a

Tiffany blue square ceramic water

bowl, as well as a six by six inch flat

wood table, on which I can place my mug.

This area is conveniently located in front of

the stereo,  so I will remember to turn on your

favorite blues station.  It happens to be the place

where your kitty blanket and all your brushes are

stored, under the stereo cabinet. The weight of your
absence made the sunless thundering sky -- soaking
fallen leaves on the ground outside almost go unnoticed.

Big Trip to Ithaca

The Big Trip to Ithaca

We take Mystie to Cornell tomorrow for radioactive iodine treatment for her thyroid. I have told her the plan, over and over, but with our cat - human language barrier, I am not sure if I am making myself clear. It is unlike anything we have ever done together in the last fourteen years.  Yet, all day I told her: At 10:00 PM, we have to take your food bowl away.  She went right to it at 9:58 PM, then downstairs to bed.  Does she know she will be staying at Cornell for awhile, maybe a whole week, alone in a cage with only one other  cat in the room? The anticipation of this separation is sapping me like a bad cold on a dank day. But I must remind myself that if all goes well, it will be a cure! She should add some flesh back to her thin little frame, gain weight and live longer than she would otherwise. The vet assured me she will visit Mystie two or three times a day, that she’ll leave her with a radio on. I told her Mystie likes Jazz and Blues.  I forgot to tell her that she hates ads and news or too much commotion.) 

          We have already packed the GPS, the cat food, the X-rays, the medical records, our rain jackets and some kind of breakfast snack to make for a quick departure. I will hold her in the the cage in my lap for two hours, and reassure her, best as I can.  If she rubs her face against my reaching, needy fingers, I will know she is trying to reassure me too.

Poem for Mystie the Cat

You ponder the placement

of a patch of fresh sunlight.

You pounce and capture

its heat; own it’s place

for awhile.

Then your warm little

body leaps onto my lap.

And I wish you long life--

even longer than mine,

though I know that’s

unlikely.

I let go of these

thoughts

like falling-down sand

through a child’s open

hands.

You settle in to

purring,

pure and soundly

content.

You have pondered

all there is;

there is only one

Sun.

It rises up high in

the morning,

Then bows out softly

when it's done.