Letting Him Go

I don't know if it's the explosions in the engines
or the rolling on asphalt or the mean breaking
of every stillness that accompanies their passing

But it's at least the noise of that traffic, constant and
only 20 yards from my front door that brought
terror into me when my cat escaped, snaking quickly
through my legs and down the stairs, jumping into
the shrubs and rolling in the dirt, ears thrown back
Spine hunched in natural, easy readiness

I punished him for that, for his wildness
For the acceleration of my heart and sweat and
scratches from crawling after him among thorns
Despite the discipline, back in the apartment
He strutted for the rest of the day, sat by himself
Cast me sideways glances

And though he has been neutered for years
Still he lunges for that door at each opportunity
(He hates my couch and claws it on nights when
he knows I am too tired to rise from my bed)

Even with the sex cut from his body, he lingers
by every window, staring plaintively not at the
outside but at the glass that keeps him within

At times he wanders, claws clicking on
slick varnished floors, meowing absently:
    the murmurs of a soldier carrying in him
    battles unfought

He is my friend, this cat who with his restless
pacing gives voice to something in me still unmet
An energy sheathed in panic and fear that
rustles within, flexing its claws while on the
weekends I busy myself polishing the windows

-Henry Rael
Copyright © 1998