Cat Calls

 

for Super Guy

4 am, the favored time for felines in this house;
to dance a catty jig across my soft belly,
scale the cliff your side-sleeping body makes
as it juts, dark and warm, one shoulder
reaching towards the ceiling which,
if I squint my sleep-eyes just so, looks
quite like a February sky.

She slides—the cat who loves you most,
the one-eared gray
with a face like Mona Lisa—she slides
gracelessly into the valley where your neck
and shoulder meet, landing
with a small thump, and you half sigh,
breath paused as if considering,
in your dream state, the wisdom of rousing
to shoo away the one
who has attached herself to your heart,
whose paws and claws have daily
and nightly worn a path
through your resistance,
laying claim to the continent of your body,
staking out the exact place
where she anchors her nose to your neck.

This is the muted drama of our lives,
a home whose floors and walls have been
downright humbled by five
felicitous four-leggeds,
a house that swirls with fur,
No matter how hard I try,
I say to guests, but truly
I have given myself up to it—the wee hour wails
and squeaks and the sure way the littlest one
dashes under the bed at the slightest
nearing footstep, and the uninvited
company in the bathroom,
where sets of big eyes
green, golden, brown,
watch my ablutions
with what feels like bemused
tolerance with –perhaps – a side of love,
thought it might be anticipation too,
‘cuz it’s always
almost dinner.

 

–Melinda Coppola

 

CAThartic

Leroy and Olive, Ruby looking on

Leroy and Olive, Ruby looking on

 

“Comes a time, “ said the first cat, when you can decide to be different than you were. You can stop scratching at the window, scheming to find a way to get back OUT THERE. You can stop re-living , over and over in your head, the pleasures and perils of running free, looking for cover, trying to keep warm, prizing yourself with baby rabbits and chipmunks and mice and voles.

“You can decide. You can settle into sleeping all day in a sun patch on a soft carpet. You can spend the eve stalking the four corners of each room and pouncing on bugs and worms and little bits of leaf that found its way in from the garden. You can learn to love the predictable plate of food, half crunch and half fish-smelling soft mash. You can decide to trust the big clumsy humans who demand little, really, except a small patience and tolerance of a head scratch, a lap pat.”

The other felines looked, half-listened, began licking their paws in preparation for a preen.

“Point is,” the first cat said, “the big bright light comes every morning, and the big soft dark pushes it away every eve, and you can be new if you want to, because the old bright is over. You can decide how to be. “

 

carly-12-16-12

Carly

carly-girl

-Melinda Coppola