Deathcycle of Cats

Over a can of catfood, my husband comments

on the lifecycle of cats and they parade

themselves through me:

the one who ate the rosemary

and choked on the woody branch of it

the one who couldn’t stand the city

and so wasted away his liver

the one who left a note by the takeout place

before he beat pavement

            & the little one we loved sick at the clinic

though they asked us twice if we were sure

we wanted her

—I want to tell my husband he’s got the wrong word:

that there’d be no need for the eight extra lives

if they didn’t keep dying. But he wasn’t raised—

pussywillow pussyfoot puss-in-boots feline feminine

–didn’t just know that a cat can’t be kept

off a bed or out of a closet or that

when they decide to go, they leave you

no say in it. I love him & I don’t want to break

it to him again—when he brings in the stray

ginger that purrs up next to me—say

there’s no claim he can make by way

of food or milk or feathered toys—

no bargain stronger than the one

she has on herself—& I know she will go

despite his love, someday unannounced

through the window I leave ajar

over the chain link, across the gate

in the yard, from tree to rooftop

& into a stranger’s car or an open

shop door. & when she doesn’t

come back he will wonder

what he could have done differently—

Sherre Vernon is a seeker of a mystical grammar and a recipient of the Parent-Writer Fellowship at The Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. She has two award-winning chapbooks: Green Ink Wings (fiction) and The Name is Perilous (poetry). Readers describe Sherre’s work as heartbreaking, richly layered, lyrical and intelligent. To read more of her work visit www.sherrevernon.com/publications and tag her into conversation @sherrevernon.