(a poem by Timothy J. Verret, written for my cat Conrad who has left unexpectedly)

“He’s just a cat….”

his leaving came on unexpectedly

brought up frozen spells of life-before-last trauma

huge lonely blocks of huge blocks of loneliness

left alone to question if I sought to live anymore.

“He’s just a cat….”

what do you mean?

if he were “just a cat….”

then why does my heart hurt and my body freeze and my mind imagine the worst?

maybe “he’s more than just a cat….”

maybe he means everything to me

maybe you’re jealous

maybe I’m not as tortured and guilty as I feel about him leaving.

“He’s just a cat….”

torn out of every page of one who has not loved so deeply

one who has “surface loved”

one who has judged my love for an animal against their love for

nothing.

“He’s just a cat….”

then why am I at work and can’t get him out of my mind?

then why do I see him dead in a field and me dead on the slab?

then why must I care what you have to say about anything anymore?

then why am I so angry at you right now?

then why am I so angry at God right now?

“I hate you God!”

“He’s just God….”

then why do I feel better

and worse

and worst?

are you saying I’m crazy?

takes one to know one

Come back, please

because

“he’s not just a cat….”

he’s my best friend.