1.
.
I lay awake for a few moments before I rise, watching Cat sleep, admiring his élan
I shudder to think
of having taken this eight year voyage alone, he is a part of it ~ and me.
A bastard son of a show Queen who escaped to do some matchmaking
of her own, he is
snow white, as driven as snow, at times as demanding yet oddly serene, a throwback
to the pure white Birman ancestors
of so long ago who kept the monks company
in shadowed pagodas and walls of rare trees thatched with weeds
to keep out the snows and ice, as the glass
walls of my upstairs apartment does now.
The doubts, the questions of my life get tangled in the doorway and are left behind
When I enter Paw-paw’s kingdom,
whether he’s awake to greet me
Or asleep in ‘his’ chair beside my silent work desk, waiting to waken
as my scent filled the two rooms,
no matter how quiet I try to be.
When I wept, he snuggled near, questioning the tears,
When I rejoiced he watched me in patient resignation as I flitted
about,
When
I sleep he waits to touch my cheek, knowing I am well trained…
Knowing he is able to get under the covers at any time he wishes,
I wake
and
lift the blanket to assure him his place with his head on my arm,
near enough to feel and hear my heartbeat as I used to crave
with my daddy,
and we both sleep then, our world intact,
though in the morning I find his toys disturbed on the carpet
so I sense he only waited-again-till
I was sound asleep, but oh well….
Does it really matter?
.
2.
.
These poems, catching a moment or a mood in a few words are
respite to my weary soul
Especially on a morning as full as this-people and chores that need to be attended
When I long, after a night’s
pain, to lay a’ bed and drift and sleep, a reminder,
The hectic way in which I wasted most of the days of my youth-where are they now?
Those tasks so monumental to my life? Slipped away…while Shiloh waits.
He stood at the door and cried piteously when I left with a
cart-
It
usually means I’ll be gone for half of a day, after he spent the night so tenderly
Cuddled in the crook of my arm, washing my
hand and sharing a purr
That I had to teach him, since it isn’t in a Cat’s natural vocabulary-to need another,
to reassure by
the sound of a purr that all is well….
But when I came home just a few moments later from the laundry room-his only thought
Was
to escape out the door and catch the new scents out in the hall,
The leaves and debris softened by snow, the earth going to sleep
for another season,
The e-mail answered from halfway around the world, the friends spoken too
in the elevator from halfway around their
world, while I slide between
the insult of pain at each step and a borrowed joy special delivery from Heaven-
I know Cat waits for me behind the
green door. Now I can answer the song.
.
3.
.
Thanksgiving Day
It arrived softly while Shiloh was still sleeping;
I held my breath
as I checked for snow
White marked the roofs across the street
but sans wet clingy smudge soon turned to ice,
I could risk breathing.
There is a quiet air of expectation,
Shiloh wanting to be near for the warmth,
But I have much yet to finish cooking for this evening’s seasonal feast.
It’s Thanksgiving day. I braced myself waiting for emotion.
. It arrived softly while
Shiloh was still sleeping;
I held my breath as I checked for pain and found only comfort.
Shiloh woke, yawning pink gums and white fangs
I held my breath
as I realized we are a family
And refused to allow the disappointment to creep in.
I am happy. It is Thanksgiving.
That’s enough.
.
4.
.
When he sleeps
on my lap in winter for warmth, his front paws curl around my belly
he
arches his back; sticking the top foot in the air-but I don’t know why!
So many things he does because he saw me do it first-but not this I fear,
and it makes me smile as I watch him, sometimes tickling it for sheer orneriness
sigh…like tormenting him with a silent meow where only my lips move
though he can hear the music or the television continue in the
background.
Bad Mama!
I just can’t help myself! Honest! One hasn’t been ignored until ignored by le
Chat!
and to see him so intent, straining forward to catch
the smallest sound,
the meaning of it, strikes a chord
in me that’s simply irresistible….
But he forgive
me, jumping up my lap at the first hint of an invitation,
sometimes
creating one, sometimes showing his back in more ways than one
as
he lays his head on the rounded wheel of the heater because I’ve refused him,
but one thing is equally irresistible….when he stands at the foot of the bed watching
with that intentness, those Betty Davis eyes – ready to flee or fight
whichever comes first and I know its time to reach for the stick
and the string
and bring the almost denuded fathered ‘Bug’
out to fly!
Silly Bug!
It always goes back for me, just like me! J
.
5.
.
It’s such a comfort to wake and find him snuggled against
my heart, a white form
secure and soft and war, speaking
of a peace so long lacking in my life.
We have our rituals,
like any other couple together enough to know each other well.
He
thinks he’s human, or that I’m just a slow witted Cat, I’m not sure which,
but as he ages I’ve noticed a subtle but unmistakable in leadership
he’s more likely to be the one to wake me with pinpricks and feline timetables
though he waits under the covers till I wake and rise, he bristles
~ at a safe distance
when he’s in the mood to romp
or challenge accepting my limitations as natural,
but when
he’s done playing-waiting tensely till I make a noise and a hand movement
as his excuse to tear about the house like a mighty jungle beast he returns
and politely waiting for the invitation to ‘up’ curls in my lap still demanding
all
that I owe him as sovereign liege and Lord of the House.
Using his narrowed ‘kitten’s eyes’ to encourage
the petting fingers that
Encourage and embolden him to demand
a bite that’s permitted ~ as long as
It doesn’t
bend or pinch tender flesh. Our size difference leveled out
By
his ego. And His trust.
.
6.
.
The Holidays have certainly turned our
world upside down with all the company
the demands on time,
coming and going, the feet that walk boldly
in the only
sphere he has to trod. For the only place to avoid them is chairs,
tabletops
and the bed, all of which he has to share with me.
For some
reason, seeing him walk confidently yesterday
between two
strange pair of legs and shoes I was put in mind of how he
might view this uncommon juxtaposing of bodies and legs as if I were small
again, making my way through a forest of pants legs and silk stockings
with faces too far removed from my world to hold interest for me.
Last night I couldn’t sleep, a wracking couch kept waking me gasping for air
and each time he waited patiently for my return as a lump under
the covers
finally giving up and coaxing me back to bed
by sleeping on my arm
as I tried to write-he knew we were
supposed to be asleep in the dark
and near to each other’s
hearts, but this morning he was unusually nervous.
I worked
out my feelings in strange vivid dreams,
making sense of
the week’s incursions and the bouts of pain returned with cold,
and
though the documentary clearly showed that cats dream as they sleep,
he
was annoyed and loving toward me at the same time-attempting to demand
something that’s rightfully been his.
He
moved to ‘his’ chair to give me the morning to write, but I have to go,
perhaps as he dreams alone, he too can make sense of things-and tell me.
.
7.
.
The
winter sunlight pressed between the slats of the new blinds this morning
illuminating Shiloh’s sleeping figure. As if he’d given up trying to wake me
as he usually does. The morning had been so quiet with fog frozen to the street
that the usually quiet work of the pre-dawn bread delivery
sounded like sledgehammers right next to the bed, waking me
from my own snore-no wonder he hid under the covers!
-
8.
-
My hand touched something warm and silky under the covers
and I knew I was awake, that I was feeling the sides of my sleeping cat, I
simply wasn’t sure why I had wakened, for he hadn’t prodded me as usual.
As I lay there, watching the stars that pressed in a bowl like
elliptical surrey
I was wrapped in a Silence that was anything
but empty, no, the Universe hummed
within it and through
it, encompassing my sleeping form on a bed in a room
in
a town in the middle of mountains with whom they are more intimate
and
familiar and yet we were a part of the harmony of the song the Universe sang
to lull us back to sleep under the stars protective watch and I sighed.
Cat made a noise, deep in his throat, a sleepy questing that touched me
almost as deeply as if someone from my past had spoken to reassure me
as I woke from the terrible nightmares that plagued my middle years
and I think I glimpsed how blessed I am to have this time alone and apart,
watching dreams come true while the numbers of years cause me
to shake my head.
Two thousand four, Two thousand six, two
thousand nine, I lived each intimately
as the stars and
the seas and the stone of the mountain have shared ~ yet
they
are a distant dream and I cannot think of tomorrow _ I am…
in
the moment, in harmony with all Time, at peace. But soon_
I
will be asleep again with Cat cuddled against my chest
and
the covers pulled over his head as he lays his head against my forearm_
But I will remember! I do_ remember.
.
9.
.
Shiloh was sleeping
so sweetly I hated to bother him, but I had to get up.
Once
up, I had to stay up to write, although its ten minutes to two in the morning
even the drunks have left early, to avoid the new snow spinning tires in the calm.
He stayed under the covers, sleeping on a corner of his blankie
while I used its warmth as the temperature dips into single digits outside the window.
but I noticed a flicker of white from the corner of my
eyes as I watched the screen
and I knew; I sensed; I hoped;
I would look up and find that it was him!
His contented
purr seems to suggest, 'Anywhere you are Mom, is alright with me,
I'll just come lay in your lap' .... I wonder anew at the gracious of our King.
First going to sleep with such a vivid and pleasant dream
of being beside Jesus in such sweet joy, and now this,
the quiet hours without pain - the steroids must be doing that
- to spend time with Thee, when thee have the time to come read this.
I am so blessed without merit, but not without gratitude!
In the background a piano plays out the simple melody of ‘Away in a Manger’
And I am both adult ~ and child, the striver,
the author, ~ the old woman
deeply content to have her white
cat snuggle on her lap.
For tonight, now, that is more than
sufficient to meet my needs.
Thank you.
.
10.
.
Last night it got down to single digits on the thermometer, burr…
I wasn’t surprise that Cat got under the covers, but I thought it so sweet
that he tried to sleep on the outside
first because my arm was uncovered,
but once it grew too
cold, he got underneath and demanded his portion
of the
cloud colored woolen blankie I snuck from his sleeping area
to
ward off the cold until I can get a thicker blanket for the bed….
Though he’s a scoundrel at times, he is such a comfort to me!
Since I was in and out, baking a spice cake, he sat in the center
of the doorway between the two rooms warming himself by the small heater
watching me with a slightly disgruntled look, as if biding me to
make up my mind and light in one place so he can have his lap back!
He got the brunt of it when I came home from Wal*Mart so shaken
I can only imagine how he wonders what mood I’ll be in when I return
With the cold and the smell of snow and frost on my clothes,
The coldness in my voice through no fault of his own, and yet
At night he’ll come to his accustomed place and ‘ask’ if he may lay
and comfort me with his calm and inherently feline serenity,
allowing the unequal beat of my heart to echo against his strength.
The house smells of wonderful spice and Christmas chorals sing
quietly
in the background, reminding me of the One who taught
us to love…
as if I could forget with Heaven’s
gentle reminder on my lap to remind me?
.
11.
.
My cat is definitely a ‘love bug’ but it seems both tender and annoying
that he senses when my heath is uneven, for he clings near.
seeming to need me as much as I need him!
This year, like the others, as soon as I reached for ‘his’ tree, he watched
deeply concerned and meowing uncharacteristically
as I took ‘the Hanukkah Bush’ from its customary place
on top of the refrigerator, nor would he let me take the two steps to the
table with my ankles unadorned with white fur wrapped around them!
At midnight on the first of December it seemed the right time to begin
to celebrate what the dear Savior has given me year round- the closeness
I used to experience only twice a year as family gathered,
now family is Cat and me and the friends I’ve made this year.
With him keeping my lap warm and interfering with my writing, I am
…oddly…content…despite the annoyance.
I knew I was better when he went to sleep on his blankie
during the evening instead of demanding to be in physical contact with me,
as I used to do of those I loved and I would suppose that’s
where I learned
to be patient with small annoyances because
of the larger things they
represent: a foretaste of Heaven’s
comfort in the midst of a snowy night,
and I am awed by
the fact of love’s very existence!
Or that, at a
time when I am most prickly, I am privileged to bask in it
As
my fingers move in time with the lap of his small pink tongue.
I
can risk loving my Cat, even if no one can risk loving me in my many moods.
.
12.
.
With so many strangers coming and going in our life I worried about Shiloh,
I could have saved myself the trouble, for He cares about us all, and so does Cat.
Though its frequently irritating to have type over his head and
endure love bites
on my wrist when he becomes annoyed at
being ignored, I am touched
that he seems to care about
being near me as I care about him!
What a wholesome reminder
of the love GOD gives as we have our being in him,
as what
we feel and know or think don’t have to be TOLD any more than
the
substances of tangible life have to be told what pain or heat is.
Never
has this been more real to me this chilly December First Week.
But
when he gets his “Betty Davis’ eyes” ~ it’s time to take back control
and go back to work on the keyboard sincerely.
What joy that no melancholy lurks in the shadows of my room when we’re alone
For it seems as though the very air is filled with good company, if companionably
quiet and discrete, waiting in memories, the gift of a pine cone,
sharing a smile with someone who frowned-a little- then a unique
smile,
the sight of an old friend waving hello from the
elevator doors as they eased shut,
the resolute protection
of Holiday feeling and love embracing me,
framing my smile
where its glow can light inwards with holiday cheer,
sung
about in the songs of the Forties and Fifties when Christmas drew near.
The ‘manger’ now being framed crudely as ‘a feeding trough’ cannot
extinguish
The Child who was innocently laid within it
but as our President is shown-again-
and yet again-in his
scholars mode - wrapped in Christmas emotions, I wonder
if
that’s why Christ is instinctively back in so many Christmas shows this year?
I asked Cat, but he only broke up his purr in subtle mimicry of
me
as I had kept time to Christmas melody in hums and purrs,
and I suppose,
in hindsight, that’s the only real
question I want to ponder this early - this year!
13.
.
Yesterday I went to the Dollar Store to purchase an angel for the top of ‘his’
tree.
I found a garland with tiny bells which reflected
the winter sun this afternoon
as bright and merry as any
cast from silver or polished bronze or bright
as the joy
reflecting in me at seeing how well the haphazard pieces came together
into a cohesive whole like the glow and costuming of a professional show
~ in my modest opinion; as something outside of myself.
I unwrapped the three woodcarvers with troll-like white hair,
And thought of the silver filling up my brown shafts from the roots,
I hung the miniature Christmas Teddy bears, but only eleven made it to the tree,
the twelfth got broken and had to sit beside it on top of the
scented candle,
set apart just like me. But at last it was
complete.
I looked for Cat to see his reaction; if the
white cloth with gold stars
set his heart to dancing the
way it did mine, but he was asleep in the other room!
I
laid down, too tired to care, but a new feeling for the Season snuggled
in the warmth between us as the cold hugged to the corners of the wall.
I wrongly guessed that the meaning of the season was lost on him…till…
I looked up from the computer at the sound of a soft ‘thud’…
The miniature wreath hanging from the ceramic cat’s tail
on the back of the door
Had fallen and as I picked it up
to re-hang the small sculpture
and the Sign of the Time,
Cat suddenly leaped from ‘his’ chair in a fright,
running
to my ankles and blocking my step???
Meowing anxiously as
I carried ‘his’ wreath to some unknown destination,
in
the same intense scrutiny and intense reaction I deal with each year
as
I carry ‘his’ tree from the top of the ice box, four steps, to the table!
And it humbled me that he watched until I was done, making sure no harm
or change had come to the green tinsel and red bow, or the second angel
whose weight had caused it to pull away from the back of the door.
Maybe perception isn’t all of reality for I saw he care, but being a Cat,
He didn’t see the need to state the obvious ~ like me. J
-
14.
.
While the Spirit of the Season fills
my apartments with verse and song
and the smell of spice
cake lifts the ordinary to the sublime,
I glance at Cat
asleep in ‘his’ chair and then to the kitchen table where
‘his’
tree rests, guarded curiously and intently in its brief journey
from
the top of the ice box to its place of honor on the table
and
I smile as I find the meaning and peace of this season of Lights
and
giving is etched on the glass of my closeted heart’s door
by
a small, intent Being testing out his feline side.
Though
I despair of the commercials pounding us from the media,
I
discovered to my joy and relief-no doubt akin to his own-
when
his journey ended with the three steps from the refrigerator
to
the table where he walks with impunity,
just as mine ended
with the Twelfth step of December for 2000 and 9,
to find
the return of Christ to Christmas the freedom of traditional
holiday
chorals I feared were denied us like Nativity Scenes…
can
freedom be suppressed in a heart which embraces it?
I reach
out in sleep and find a small white shape near in the night,
a
reminder of the One who is love, who is truly,
the reason
for the Season of Giving and lights!
“The SPIRIT of the Season. Poem #8”
.
15.
.
I woke reluctantly ~ for the sheer presence of the dream enfolded the entirety of
my being into its gracious and welcoming reality. The sense of
connection with the vibrant Being who
made no attempt to hide His face from me,
and Jesus was
free to return it, although the thought of matching it was
as
impossible as the dream was real! ~
It was too early for
the sounds of traffic, the alluring chimes of holiday psalms,
set
to familiar tunes. Too early for almost anything except to
wrap
my fingers around the cloth of the dream and coax it to remain yet
a
little bit longer, to wrap it around my shoulders while I was still free to
dare to dream its inner rhythms and themes. Then I heard the low purr.
Cat was coaxing me awake to feed him, with soft kisses on my finger, a light nip
to display his irritation at being left home alone for so long yesterday, then he
laid his head on my shoulder and waited for my sleepy shuffle to lead me
to fill his food dish in the charming and restful silences as
Chanukah nestles in the bosom of burgeoning Christmas, waiting its turn.
“
The Spirit of the Season” Poem #11
.
16.
.
I’ve
come to accept that Shiloh attempts what he sees me do, but sometimes,
I think, I need to rein my imagination in.
For
example, yesterday ~ as I left ~
Cat became visibly upset,
vocalizing at the door at the top of his lungs…
and
I could have sworn he was yelling: “ Error! Error, error! “ …in that
I had left him on the wrong side of the door!
Then “Help! Help! “ But mercifully, the elevator arrived to release me!
Yet when I came home several hours later he greeted me sweetly
as I let myself in.
Exhausted to the point of hostility,
I was loved to death until I yielded and smiled.
This morning,
however, I didn’t get off as easily!
In between his
licks and kisses, I got bit! Firm reprimands from a small feline
whose
clearly reversed the hierarchy of the home we share.
What
could I do? ~ He was right. ~ and worse …
I
left again as soon as I was up and dressed!
What’s a guy to do when he’s full of molten lava and
bug juice?
waking us all in the near vicinity with an ear
splitting revolt against ~what?
at the top of his lungs
at seven in the morning!
I yelled at him, he yelled back!
I meowed, he answered in question
not willing to be so easily
mollified.
Last night his warning had been warranted but
repeated again ~
tries the patience of my long suffering
neighbors and I was no help,
I just wanted to sleep, and
sleep, perhaps to sleep more?
But I softened my voice and
called to him, accepting him as he was,
as he accepts me
and moments later I felt his approach,
hesitantly crossing
the covers and the static electricity charges in answer
and
finally he lay, but on the outside – mimicking my lengthwise pose
but keeping his feet turned toward me ~ in rejection?
Then
when I woke I three and a half hours later, he was bundled against
My
side, pressed hard against the irregular rhythm of my heartbeat
And
I was grateful ~ as I’m sure the neighbors were.
I
dare not show my face out the door today, I fear, but…
we’re
having Lasagna for dinner, a favorite of another cat,
since
Shiloh can’t have friends of his own over like I did yesterday,
and as we listened to tires over ice under the cover of snow,
he came to my recline in my lap while I sat at my computer,
allowing me to feel perfection as it rested graciously between me and
the keys I also stroked ~ contentment lined his face, his eyes
narrowed to their kitten appeal of helplessness as I made notes
for this poem on the clipboard where he should have been sitting.
He sleeps now, on ‘his’ chair and I have finished my ‘work’,
even the air behind me is dark, the light hasn’t enough snow to shine
and it feels more like eight o’clock than four, but I can
not challenge that wisdom
either. It is what it is. Cat
is being Cat, and I am lucky enough to watch
and share a
life that’s never bland or boring when Shiloh is awake.
-
18.
Shiloh sleeps beside me in such comfortable
companionship,
a measure of trust all the money in the
world couldn’t buy.
That for all we fuss and struggle
during the day
~ by night we will shelter
in one another’s warmth the way I wished I
could
have found in a human companion to share with me.
Usually
he wakes as soon as I touch him, learned experience from
being
rolled over on in the middle of the night;
not today. He
was near me, but not touching ~
silent rebuke for ignoring
him in the morning’s dark.
Deeply asleep at first.
I saw by his eyes that he was conscious
and willing to accept
my slow stroke without needed to assert
his
male dominance by capturing my fingers or biting them.
Part
of me thinks its sad that I have to ascribe so much to my feline companion
~ The Little Old Lay and her Cat ~
the better
half of me is profoundly grateful to have a wise companion
to
share the time and mark the seasons in companionable relationship.
A
person would take my words of hurt to heart
and reject me
as I am striking against my hopeless and pain,
but a Cat
is the one of the most secure of creations in God’s Universe
and
though sometimes he’ll mimic in his sleep the soft moans of pain he hears,
he is a breath of life, a force to be reckoned with
in
a world of ‘bugs’ and long sighs….
And
though I will never be as good a companion as another cat,
We
actually enjoy one another ~ and of how many of my human friends
may I say that with confidence?
.
19.
.
Christmas Eve
Day is a welcomed respite from all the hassle and stress;
Everything
has been accomplished but giving the last three Christmas Cards
and
I’ll accomplished that when I get home, so I’m free ~
or
reasonably inexpensive J “ a reasonable facsimile thereof
”
as the Old Folks used to say between winks and a grin at
one another.
Shiloh’s tree is now decorated
and graced by a translucent plastic Angel.
Yesterday I came
out of the room unexpectedly to find him
batting at one
of the new toy soldier ornaments until he noticed I was there.
He
looked over his shoulder at me,
as if expecting to see if
he would be scolded?
Then, an attempt to gnaw on one of
its artificial branches, sure to get
The desired rise out
me, he haughtily stalked across the bare portion of the table
to
‘his’ chair.
Watching me through hooded eyes
as I sat down at the computer,
a sure
sign I plan to stay awhile, but I had to leave the apartment again,
and
I waited until I thought he was asleep, forgetting the quickness of cat responses.
As soon as I shuffled to the coffee pot and turned, he was awake,
down on the linoleum, whirling and pleading tenderly,
meowing
his kittenish display, and neglecting dignity ~
mine or
his.
He is such a fun companion for all that I’ve
been giving him a bad time
needing to be in my lap twenty
four/seven!
Now when I sit and watch t.v. he doesn’t
sleep on the end of the bed
in the flow of chilled air from
the room’s commonly shared air conditioner
but curled
around the comfort of the heater’s base, his chin resting on the wheel
~ at least IT will stay in one place and allow him to stay warm!
.
20.
.
There is a quiet between the pulse of
moments that seize us and carry us forward,
electronic bells
chime sounding softer or loud depending on movement of artic air
The
City waits in anticipation of the approaching Holy Night as I do sleepily…
Halleluiah’s echoing down the corridors of time only faintly to be heard by
a world again seized in the grip of global dominance and need, we are reminded.
Winter had stolen Shiloh’s purrs and some of his wild abandon
as age seeps,
But as he sits in certain places in the house
where it remains warmer, near me,
I’ll suddenly become
aware he is standing upright, his eyes intently fixed on mine,
The
need for movement and life vibrating though his stock-still pose
and
I look up from glorious Christmas Carols being sung by countless many
to
find myself fixed on the stare of a singular Entity
and
I find a reason to smile, never unlocking my gaze as I reach for the stick
with the string that allows the now featherless ‘Bug’ to fly though the air!
Bounding fecklessly to where the bug will land just as his clawed paws strike!
Sometimes guiding the flight of the compliant beastie by his body
positioning,
Knowing the familiar path the bug will take
in attempting to coax him to play!
I envy his charge around
the bed, rolling on the carpet, shaking his head side to side
like
a wild tiger giving its pray a deathly shake, then loosening it to wait
allowing it its freedom so that it can come around his head or back again ~
to be attacked by a superior force again ~ silly bug! ~ it never learns!
I am briefly allowed to enter his world and move with grace and freedom,
If only the flick of my wrist to make the enticing creature breath on its own
in time to a cat’s flying ballet moves until we’re
both exhausted.
He’ll lie still by the heater as
a means of telling the bug to return to sleep,
obviously
congratulating on a job well done, another satisfying hunt.
And
I needs must wait until the Hunter is ready to be coaxed again.
Poor
bug ~ the rest of the time it’s ignored.
And one hasn’t
been ignored until one has been ignored by Le Chat!
.
21.
.
Shiloh is such
a gentle companion that sometimes he is near and I forget
Other
times he is relentless in his demands to occupy my lap at the keyboard
and after five years he still expects to win, and often does, I am prone
to relent and then ignore him until he gets down on his own ~
and yet, even as now, when he sleeps on ‘his’ chair beside me,
curled in a stylish feline ball of white fluff, so as to still fit in the small space
I find his presence comforting as I busy myself with catching
up
on those verses, words, and thoughts pain compelled me
to abandon.
The Holidays have slid to a graceful close as
the New Year approaches,
a quiet sigh as much of loss as
gratitude slips from between my lips
and I find myself approaching
the end of the decade in much the way I do
my gentle white
Companion ~ largely ignoring him,
sometimes have whole weeks
appear as a single day, then looking around
in a start, wondering where its gone, can I find its treasures
at will?
And discovering how near they are, embracing them
in one moment,
and tossing them into a comfortable pile
the next- eager to complete
all that I may in the time allowed,
yet having infinite Time to do
those things which truly
matter with GOD and Shiloh near ~
my world is complete no
matter the year or the decade!
.
22.
.
The Snow’s breath is intent upon
its chastisement of all that stands in its path
and I am
grateful anew for the barrier of brick and glass between us.
“Four
Season” seemed such a plaintive cry when I lived in California,
yet
as the storms gather and snow weighs down the summit of Mt. Spokane
I
shiver and try not to pay too close attention to the weather on the news.
Yet it’s inescapable in the dark before the dawn as snowplows scrape
their rails across the deceptive mounds of snow and ice in the parking lot
across the street while cars parked late in the evening have tires hum a sad tune
of inequity in the morning stare on ice their engine heat engendered
last night
while I huddle under sweater and terry cloth
robe and fleece lined slippers
with my back to the dark
breath of the early winter’s eve and pretend not to
be
aware of its harsh gaze raked across my back with headlights and ice
as
I compete with the heater for Cat’s warmth against an incomplete breath
and I wonder of the loss of Eden’s innocence when what was unknown
seemed worthy of the loss of its ignorance and as I wait for Cat to wake
thoughts nestle beside me for comfort, within arms reach yet as far
as the chill moon whose face we now resemble, and I hear a new howl added
to the night’s crystalline cacophony that sets my bones to shiver
and I wonder that Cat can sleep so peacefully with a storm prowling about
yet I imitate his peacefulness till the winter winds give up and blow away
and I draw comfort from the knowledge that ‘this too will
pass’.
.
23.
.
Cat wakes me
with tiny touches of his paws, knowing he can’t eat until I rise
Then nestles near and waits for the mountain to groan, to shift, to move.
The familiar catch phrase that starts the day and oils the unwilling gears
Until they creak and move and with a larger groan, I throw back the covers
and I rise at my master’s command. He beats me into the
kitchen
then waits patiently until the plates clatter and
the door opens, the can
spews its sounds and tasty aromas
as he waits patient, pretending this was
all my idea-and
I don’t let on that I know ~ I know!
Worse, I depend
on him to wake me, but Cat mustn’t know
He is as well
trained as I am!
24.
.
The night skies of New Year’s Eve are clear but called to
the river’s edge
by the warmth of the mountain fed
river racing below the surface, or ~
perhaps ~ by the warmth
of the winter coat bundled people gathering over
the grassy
knolls behind the Spokane River for the night’s festivities
are
clouds assembling themselves to display the colors of the fireworks
as
I wait for the hours to count down
ushering in a new decade
as well as a new year, I watch people passing
under my third
story window, hastening toward the day’s ending glow
and
Riverfront Park to celebrate the year’s ending in communal activity
while ascending ages gather at the adult’s side to see things still new to them
and I’m grateful for this one night only to have a Cat instead of dogs
for the boom of the fireworks doesn’t even rate a raised
head any longer,
and the clamor of car theft prevention
devises is of less interest than a bird,
and terror and
desperation and primitive fear have no reflection in his
sublime,
feline serenity and therefore in me.
There is only one small
pause as Tasha’s form emerges from the past,
Rising
painful memories and a sense of loss I cannot control,
I
am losing touch with a decade that saw so many changes in my life.
Unlike
any other since my year youth and my struggle to survive.
And
yet, in age, there is the peace that things have come and gone again
Many
times before, and the small white cat asleep in my lap
was
here to take her place soon in the decade and he will continue with me
will into the next. I take comfort in that and release her with the fireworks
reflecting on the clouds like the guns of war that fall silent
in the face of a foe who will not be intimidated nor turned aside
from the path given him by the Creator as he left Heaven.
I am in aw of my Cat, though he not of me, and I smile.
Taking comfort that things have come and gone again, many times before,
and the small white cat asleep in my lap was here
in the last decade and he will continue to be with me until I am called Home
.
25.
.
The cannon booms, the air grows taunt in silent anticipation, then the sky explodes!
Cat wakes from his sleeping place with his head on the heater
wheel and peers
into the brightly lit space over his head
as the window rattles, but holds firm
I watch him, looking
away from the vividly colored television screen
where Sydney
and Russia have already flared and the Eiffel Tower glowed
with
multi-hued moving lights like a creature of the deepest seas and ask
if
he needs or wants my comfort, but having made his own peace with the lack
not needing to move from his comfortable perch, he sighs and lays down his head
and I pretend to have been watching the lights exploding behind the glass,
if difficult enough not to be a cat without acting as ‘not a cat’!
Cannons
boom, the air grows taunt in silent anticipation, then the sky explodes!
I rise and stand beside him as I pull back the blinds but he sleeps
Confident I won’t step on him ~ this time ~ and I watch the clouds hover
along the river’s edge while brightly colored stars spew out of them explosively.
smoothing some of the smaller stellar gifts but merely emphasizing
others
allows flashes of unearthly green and scarlet and
violet to hold sway
over the thick clumping gray attempting
to hold them in, and I smile….
No longer will we
say ‘Thousand and ‘ but ‘Twenty something’ ~ and yet
My home is warm and brightly lit, my needs are met and my chief-est whims
assuaged by the comforting presence of a living mite that loves me,
and I am reminded ach time he demands my lap as given right as Le Chat
‘that the more things change, the more they stay the same’
The Old Folks were right and now I are one. J
.
26.
.
It seems odd
to write a new year, the flow of the years has been too uneven,
But
God is constant, and so is His love, and by His Grace I am calming.
Even
when my thoughts race faster than the clip clop of my topsy-turvy heart,
The more things change, the more they’re the same, just like the Old Folks said!
This is the first year I’ve wakened with the same grace as my Cat,
Simply walking through the opened door into the new decade, confident in it
and in my ability to face what needs must be confronted.
Even in Shiloh I see the mellowing of middle age as his 7th
birthday nears,
mid-February. A patience and tolerance I
profoundly admire,
as I sit beside the window watching the
first day of the new decade fade
there is a sense of continuity
and serenity I borrow from Le Chat,
reflections
on the months, days, and years that carried us to this place,
and
the ground swell of hope and expectation as healing picks up speed,
the
scales have tipped toward Life and healing and I for one
will
only sigh in relief ~ and tease ~ that going downhill-one picks speed!
.
27.
.
It tore at my heart to hear his cry escalate from questioning to:
‘I don’t want to be alone!’
My hope that the absence of cat treats would forewarn him proved false.
We’d spent the day together, until his fur grew soft and he curled in my lap
and slept for an hour possessively; until I had to move.
I’d twice rebuked him for getting in my lap while
I attempted to
Work on the keyboard in front of the computer,
wasted energy!
For he bullied his way in when he clearly
showed he knew-he knew!
Sleeping on my shoulder so I had
only one finger to type,
Having finally conceded I didn’t
want him in my lap.
But that night he approached without
his usual confidence?
Apprehensive
and ready to be put to flight before he laid down by my heart,
now this!
I wouldn’t
have gone out this morning if I could have avoided,
I was
sick and had no business being outside and we both knew it!
And
his heartbreaking wail haunted me even as I slid into the elevator.
I
wouldn’t have gone out if it hadn’t been a stone cold necessity!
His call loudly shouting that I was wrong, how I was breaking his heart
and it haunts me still ~ it will be good to get home to Cat!
It’s difficult to know what to expect...he used to run joyously to see me
Meowing me a vivid tale of everything that happened while I was away~
Apparently a lot ~ what a shame I don’t speak Cat to find out.
Sometimes he just wakes in his chair and looks at me…
but I have the confidence in this rare gift of years that I may
reach for the things love allows me to see ~ and when Cat merely blinks,
and doesn’t find my jokes amusing, I merely need to seek out my
two legged friends, and annoy them for a while!
.
28.
.
As Winter closes around us Shiloh’s fur grows luxuriant and soft
I notice it especially when I wake while he’s still sleeping.
Awake, he’ll feel the need to reassert his dominance, but asleep,
with his head held hard against my wrist, he’s still, and I may
claim him as my own and shape him to my needs and yet ~
there is such comfort in having a strong willed, living being
near.
My friends are going out of their way to ease my path
through winter,
silently supporting me in my struggle to
keep Balance,
keeping hope alive and joy
renewed each day like God’s mercies,
as sung by the
Psalmist, so sings my heart in fresh vigor.
Like yesterday
when I made good my threat of many years standing
and I
purchased an inexpensive artist’s set up kit and a round brush ~
which Cat promptly seized upon as his new toy,
like
twisty-bread wrappers or waded up papers left in odd places…
tossing
it in the air in a prolonged game of catch,
unit it fell
behind the tale and got wedged on the leg, and I didn’t have
the
heart to take it away from him since I won’t need it for weeks –
if then…he’s enjoyed it again and again since….sigh….
“ it must have been love…”
…the song from the loud speaker croons,
‘but
its over now…” ..
So
is the sadness now that I have a white Birman cat to be my companion.
I
always said I’d never be that woman and her cats…but…sigh…
My chief-est joy and tyrant…for if I strike out in pain or exasperation
he doesn’t take it personally, the way I would with another
human being;
he who sits on top of my computer for its warmth, blocking my light,
who attempts to walk on air, confident I won’t let him fall,
thinking that he hasn’t worn out the possibility from this
angle as yet,
not getting pulled, or slapped or scolded
because I don’t want him in my way,
nor biting my
swollen knuckle, pulling holes in my clothing and being mean;
demanding
the right to sit in my lap and accept my extravagant praise,
as
his kingly right, no matter how inconvenient to his surf,
or
how much I push him away, crying out in frustration and pain, at night,
.He rejoins me as soon as I’ve gotten settled under the weight of the covers,
and snuggles, asking first, hesitant movements in case I react blindly in pain
then nestles with his rib cage against my beating heart, his head
pillowed
on the crook of my arm, or resting on the edge
of the pillow next to mine,
and I am in awe of God's graciousness
in the face of my multiple faults!
29.
.
I don’t need to look t see a small white form always sleeping near,
But it is such a comfort to look and see my linchpin firmly in place.
Last night I drifted to sleep, listening to the cold. I felt his paw
And I opened my eyes, startled to see him near, head raised and awake
Usually when the weather gets down to the teens he gets under the covers
As soon as I lay down, but tonight he was awake and alert?
His eyes keeping track of the ‘bugs’ scurrying across the wall as the
cars drive down the night deserted street outside our window,
and I had the strangest sense of having a guardian to watch over
me!
The memory of Tasha and Cinder pressed nearer, awakening
the ache,
and I can’t fathom how he came to know I
needed him,
but when I woke, he was still pressed near,
his head firmly against
the quiet pulse in my wrist while
I slept,
and in having him near and my beloved Pets lodged
firmly in
the heart which continues to beat in joy,
in steady passage from one day to the next,
I find this New Year’s promise combining all that I have loved
with all the things I will come to know to love,
and the unexpected things we’ve encountered in our six years
of combat and Cat, compliance and complacency….
Yeh think?
30
I
miss the birds already; the air seems as empty as it is cold,
Living
by the river alternates ‘shushing’ sobs with long, dry silences
But as I share the weekend of solitude, just Cat and I, I dream…
Busying myself with summer at California’s sea shore, as I remember it,
climbing resin speckled Pine trees on hills or moving with reverent silence
through mile high Redwoods saplings when Christ was born,
that are a decade older and a decade higher.
Sometimes in long moments like these between the droning passages
of car tires singing soft insults about the ice they must endure
I hear the soft call of a Whippoorwill or the mocking caw of
a brightly hued Jay always just one tree beyond my reach,
and I leave behind the Old Woman and her cat
as
I race barefoot along sun dried trails,
leaping over fallen
pine cones and worn upright stones strew in my path,
I ride
bareback on the warmed hide and muscles of
my Sand Dune
mustang and pretend to be wild.
I am a friend of the wind
that races past my cheek in hurried array,
and I am whole
and young, and free again ~
if only in my dreams.
-
-
A.R. Koheen
