Poem: On the Habits of Cats

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