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He wasn’t much of a cat.
13 and overweight,
red and white,
one eye smaller than the other.
His tail must have been broken
because it looped grotesquely up
over his back.
But he was happy I adopted him.
He wanted to impress me
by using the litter box right away.
He pawed and dug his spot,
then hunched over it and squatted.
But he was too big for the box,
and he squirted everything over the top
and on to the floor.
He jumped away,
looked at me and ran.
I wasn’t angry.
I understood completely.
Many times I tried to do
what I thought was right,
only to have it all go horribly wrong.
And just like the old cat,
I ran off and allowed someone else
to clean up the mess.
Reprinted
from
"Surrendering to the futilities that make a man crazy"
© Copyright 2005 Keith Gery |