for paul and his kitten
In her eyes I see reflected
an image of myself from only a few years ago
This tiny offspring without a family tree
reminds me of another; she could be the daughter
of the kitty who cried in the street, and was never again seen
When this child of feline persuasion steps towards her meal
with indelicate, crystal gallops,
I remember another wiry bundle of blue and gold fur
who trampled linoleum with congruent energy and sloppiness
That cat wore a corkscrew tail, given from her Manx ancestry;
coat a peculiar triad of colors inherited from her mother;
and owned the slenderness of an enlongated tiny bundle
The wit in her eye and the love in her voice,
that was enough to guarantee my adoration forever
But she was forced to live in the street
when enemy puppy fear crept up her spine
I visited my kitty of old in the amber light hours--
called her name until I couldn't speak to her when she appeared
The new kitty never comes when I call her
She showed up where the old had disappeared,
three years, counted out by memories, past due
A tiny blurred clone with a straight, normal tail,
yet mischief in her lazy bones,
looks at me and perhaps remembers me as I was
from her mother's point of view.
That may be why, though we are new acquaintences,
she dotes on me so much.