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Rehousing cats

By jfarrell

The big clumps of fur falling off my eldest cat,

Tell me, loud and clear, that I ain’t coping;

Now I’m back at work, I’m not here,

To give the third meal a day (lunch) and clean their litter trays.

I’m not looking after them as well as I should,

So, I know it’s the responsible thing to do;

My youngest, Ollie, ginger, got taken in by a sweet old lady;

Chade, all black, going to what sounds like a hellhole.

I fear he won’t live long, living in yard with 20 other cats;

But, beggars can’t be choosers;

And they’re just cats!

Right?

At 49, they’re the only family I’m ever gonna have;

My mum can die, I wouldn’t spit on her;

I talk to my sister 10 minutes on her birthday, 10 on mine;

My cats are the only living thing I felt close to. Ever.

My only real life source of acceptance,

Of being loved, being needed,

Being part of something more, other, than me;

And I’m not even a ‘cat’ person.

I’ve just given Chade what I think is a death sentence;

Maybe I’m tired; maybe “it’s just Monday”;

Maybe it’s the sudden rent arrears, or not enough hours…

But Chade leaving, and where he’s going to

Is what makes me cry tonight.