Me? I’m fine. Really.
But if there’s a karma god out there
watching over broken pets,
you better know what to say.
You broke our cat.
Every day, she walks around the house in a daze.
In want of an explanation
of why she’s no longer getting those
ear rubs, the kind that makes her purr.
Of why she’s no longer seeing two pairs
of legs under the dinner table.
Of why her sleep isn’t interrupted
by your stubby face buried on her belly.
She peers into my eyes with her head slightly tilted
waiting for an answer that I don’t have.
Maybe it’s time you tell her
what happened to us.
Make Room for Poetry 