Today, a reprint of my poem about Tiffany, my late and still lamented cat. She died at the age of 16, 12 years ago. She still gives me delight when I remember her. Not a sweet cat. She came with the name, given her at the rescue shelter. I would have named her “Killer”. Still….
The first fight my husband and I got into was over the cat. His kids had a couple of cats who lived outside. He said it was only fair that my cat (I had her before we married) should also live outside, although she had been an indoor cat all her life. For the sake of being fair to the kids, I agreed. One of their cats put my cat up a tree. Charlie came home from work to find me sitting on the stoop by the tree, angry and crying. I told him it was his fault, for making her live outside. He wanted to know if she was more important to me than he was, and I said, “I’ve known her longer than I have you!” He still mentions that remark now and then, and I still stand by it.
The Styrofoam Kitty
by Marian Allen
After sixteen human years of life
— cat of the silent meow —
had no heft, no weight, no mass
except on stairs.
There, by force of will,
she mimicked elephants.
Or, when I napped on the couch,
from her higher perch,
passing a cosmic pressure
through one small foot
into the space between two ribs.
I’m also posting today at Fatal Foodies, on the subject of cyanobacteria or why polar bears are green.
WRITING PROMPT: A character gets into a fight over an animal.