for the Poeppel cats… and their people

I rise and dress, shunning the shower
for now, aware that today is the first day
of cat feeding a friend’s felines down
the block, maybe a quarter mile walk,
including the stairs up to her old house,
so I put on the walking shoes, set off into
a day hovering between spring and summer.

It’s projected to be 90 with a breeze, the
perfect summer day, though we are a month
away from its official start, but it’s still 20
degrees below that now under bright blue
skies not yet grayed from heat and fires.

We are in the just-right moment here,
and the kitties I let myself in to feed greet
me eagerly, though I arrive much later than
they’d like. They are forgiving souls, like
so many who surround me, those here and
gone, who remind me that there is grace
in scooping the litter box, in making sure
that Katy gets her tiny pill mooshed into
her food, that Maple likes her pink dish
in a specific corner to feel safe.

Don’t we all need that sense of safety,
that we’re fed and warm or cool enough?
Aren’t we all in between feedings?

I’ll be back, girls, I tell them as they finish
their breakfast and wander off to find a
favorite spot for a nap, as I head home
into a day of betweens, the spots where
the sparkling morning gleams through
new leaves, as I make my way to set
this all down before I forget it—
this tiny, precious moment.