On the Habits of Cats
Cats are creatures of habit
what they do today, they probably did yesterday
and will almost certainly do again tomorrow
Peaches is doing different things
My mom caught her fourteen years ago, barehanded
she had lurked in our yard for weeks
hiding in the garden, watching me mow the lawn
hissing at me if I looked at her
Her mother was a feral tortoiseshell we called Tortoise
she had a single littermate, a white kitten we called Cream
Cream died after a few weeks
and then their mom vanished
and we knew we had to take in the little peach-colored kitten
My mom died six months ago
all the cats took it hard
Amber, the amber-colored tabby, sulked for weeks and then attached herself to me
Peaches did, too, sitting at my side at all times
sitting on my hand as I tried to use my mouse
until one day she wasn't there
She had moved onto the kitchen table, curled up on an empty spot
or perched atop a stack of mail and documents
that my mother had set aside as important
napping throughout the day, or sometimes
staring at the ceiling, or the wall
until one day she stopped
Now her spot was on the floor
curled up in front of the oven
sometimes staring at its reflective surface
often napping
and waking up crying like a frightened baby
like she didn't know where she was
or where anyone else was
maybe crying for her Mommy
until my voice assured her that I was there, we were all there
that I loved her, that we loved her
that her Mommy loved her and would love her forever
Yesterday she wasn't on the floor in front of the oven
she wasn't on the table, in either of the boxes I had set up as beds
I searched the house for signs of her
for a glimpse of her eye, a spot of her peach-colored fur
twice I searched the house
and finally thought to look in the bathtub
there she was, sitting, contemplating
whatever it is she contemplates all day
she did not object to me bringing her out to eat
but each time she returned to her bathtub
I gave her a bowl of water
and the bowl of lasagna sauce she loves to lap up
last night she fell asleep in front of the stove after her late-night meal
but this morning she was back in the bathtub
I do not know how long this will last
or what will come next
When she dies I will pluck some of her hairs
and have her cremated
and take half of the ashes and work them into the soil of her mother's grave
the rest I will keep for myself
but for now she is in the bathtub
and it's almost time for lunch