The Lady With the Cats
THE LADY WITH THE CATS
think about the lady who we tease,
the one who often sneezes, often laughs, often dies of heart attacks.
think about how she was once a child,
a child who didn’t mind, didn’t care, and didn’t have to wash her hair.
Think about the lady some call crazy.
Think about the lady with the cats who often dies of heart attacks.
Maybe there’s a reason that she has them:
All the cats and all the scars, all the words and zero cars. Just maybe.
Maybe there’s a reason why she does it;
knits the sheets and all those mittens, pretends that she’s content with kittens. Maybe.
Maybe there’s a reason why she’s happy.
Maybe there’s a reason why she lives this way, every year, every day.
Think about the lady some call crazy.
Think about the lady with the cats who often dies of heart attacks.
Maybe, in her childhood, near her twenties…
Maybe she met a boy and fell in love and thought that would be plenty.
Maybe she was too scared to admit it.
Maybe she began to slowly let herself unravel; too scared to begin it.
Maybe she was taught that stories end.
Pages turn and people learn about the things they really want in life.
Maybe she’s too tired to continue.
Maybe every Friday at the venue playing bingo isn't right.
Instead of being old, she chose to grow up.
She chose to run a mile every morning all her life, and not to throw up.
Instead of being lonely, she was happy.
Happy with the cats, all the mittens, all the sheets, all faded khaki.
Instead of being bitter, she was sweet.
She’ll lay out all their bowls (all 9 of them) and get them food to eat.
She’ll never need a nanny or a sitter.
She’ll never reproduce or fall in love again. So she’ll never feel as bitter.
Think about your present and your future.
Think about the lady who is constantly reminded of her past.
Think about the lady some call crazy.
Think about the lady with the cats who often dies of heart attacks.
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