Chickie

Wrapped round my head on the pillow,

her cat belly warmly comforting.

When my eyes open at sunrise,

gentle touch of paw to cheek,

closing them, I sleep again,

she is generous, not insistent.

Pregnant when she adopts me,

starving and facing death,

she becomes a user of tools.

Thirsty, reaching down into bottle or vase

to soak up water with her toes,

licking drops off eagerly.  Life Skills 101.

Belly swollen Monday, gone Tuesday,

no mess, no fuss.

Vet said her body ate its little ones,

survival at a visceral level.

Years later, I adopt Pepper eight weeks old,

feisty, self concerned, needs mothering,

Chickie needs a kitten.

Drifting off to sleep, I hear

rich sounds of suckling.

They bond, mother to child.

Unclear in that long ago moment,

she is my mother too.

Thirteen years later,

difficult death, euthanasia,

decreed by pain, dosed by Animal 911.

She gently gives permission

through my tears and soft farewells.

Marian Hale

21 January 2010

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