Sunday #4

Sundae Cat


he was mewling on a day
of freezing weather,
and it's easy to believe

it stuck to him,
that he had been all black
until the snow

stained him half white.
my father didn't want
another cat, but my

mother and I convinced
him with pity, though
I'm certain he simply

played hard-hearted,
that he knew we'd be
taking the cat home.

long, wispy hair
hid a tiny frame,
thin from hard living,

and we though he was
a girl, though he sat
on his back, legs spread

and licking, like a boy.
the vet, too, was confused,
until he pushed

gently and his gender
was confirmed.
my parents wanted me

to give him a new,
more masculine name--
but he stayed Sundae.

perhaps, though, the doctor
didn't check thoroughly;
perhaps, though, Sundae

was a dog--
he followed me to
the bus stop and waited

for me to come home.
at a distance, he'd
walk in my stretching

shadow, dart into the
daylilies and emerge
once more from the green

leaves until we reached
my door.  one day,
he was no longer waiting.

perhaps he wasn't a dog--
perhaps he was a businessman,
tired of his family,

because he disappeared
and started a new life
down the street.

The german doctor and his
sick wife built him
a new home, an igloo

of reddish wood,
and gave him a new name,
though it only suited

half-- Blackie.
it wasn't betrayal,
he was needed more

with the old couple,
to comfort the man
as his only love

wasted in a bed on
the second floor
of their quiet house.

eventually the doctor
found out about Sundae's
double life and called,

telling Blackie it was
time to go home.
my father and i visited,

the wife dying upstairs,
the doctor, thin
and worried.  i looked

at the old photos, black
and white, while my dad
collected our cat.

Sundae stayed, but i
didn't-- there were
no longer bus stops

or daylilies, but infrequent
visits until i returned
home one summer.

his fur was matted, no
longer the stunning coat
of wispy, long hair.

hygiene was too much,
and the vet told us
that the tumor in the nasal

cavity was stopping him
from smelling.  cats
will not eat what cannot

smell.  and Sundae could
no longer smell.
the cancer wouldn't kill

him; that would take too
long.  starvation, breaking
down the already thin

frame, would claim him.
i couldn't stay with my
friends that night

knowing he could go,
that he was wasting away
in the tiny bathroom,

untouched food and his
shoddy deathbed covering
the floor.