of heat and grieving,
it wasn't enough to nurse my mother,
I also had to make sweet to her cat -
a leonine, lacking in all social graces
ragdoll named Annie.
Annie slept with her claws out;
spit, hissed, and scratched
at passing bare feet;
curled atop my mother's chest
and dared my efforts at care.
I hated her,
and she hated me, the intruder.
But as mama faded,
more and more often
I would wake from my rocking chair doze
to find that cat in my lap purring comfort;
she knew, I know, that loss was close.
Close to both of us.
Close as a shallow breath to silence.
For Midweek Motif ~ Cats at Poets United