the ocean always dreamed blue dreams

It was January, three years ago when we noticed a little gray cat, probably a kitten, hanging around with Chet, the male tabby that belonged to our neighbors. He was friendly, she seemed interested, but wouldn't let us touch her. I began setting food out for her. Surprisingly, both she and Chet would disappear for days at a time. Sometimes I would think they were gone for good when suddenly they would reappear.

I did make progress, though. At first I had to put the food out, then go inside before Lucy would eat. Eventually she would eat with me nearby. But I finally got impatient and devised a trap for her. I put food in our cat carrier, and was successful in getting her into the cat carrier and thence inside the house. She seemed pleased enough to be there, and at that point would let us pet her; we were restricted to her head, however. Touching her body freaked her out. To this day she will still not let me pick her up, or touch her tummy.

She got fat right away, but it was a week or two later before I got suspicious that she was pregnant. Duh! Thus Chet's proprietary interest in her! Our seven babies were born on April 6 (one died the next day). My son called me at work to inform me. Lucy had managed to give birth in my closet. My son had found one wedged between a box and the floor, a little hairless runt, and it is he, Moses, who inspired the following poem (which I wrote for the subject poem contest on cat-watching).

Anywho, Moses lived. He still captivates our hearts to this day.

Moses

Lucy who was wild and whom I taught to trust
gave birth
and there they were all seven
a multi-colored quilt of breathing fur
but one was the smallest of them all
born naked as a human babe
and just as helpless
I hovered, wondered, scratched my head
finally resolving his urgent need to live
with a strip of the softest, oldest cloth
dipped tenderly, hopefully
as a spring day, in formula
held him cupped in my hand;
his tiny head lay limp as string
on my raft of fingers
then, as though fishing for the
wiliest catfish, lowered the bait
of life as near his mouth as I could get
he sought it like his mother’s teat
sucked once, twice then dropped exhausted
I fed him in the night
stood watch all next day
he and I, partners in crime,
determined together to stay death’s hand
at last I had to put him back and
trust to Mother Nature, that merciless wench,
but luck was with us and we triumphed
he lived
others have done more, I know
still, when I look at him
dancing under my stroking hand
I think “I saved him”
and I am proud

Qimissung