today:
waking at two a.m. with the half-lucid knowledge that the kitten was not inside.
walking, barefooted and nightgowned around the yard
pshhhhpshhhhpshhhhing.
but.
nothing.
back to bed,
dreaming, in rolling fits and starts, about lost kittens and children and opportunities.
and then
again at six,
barely better clothed.
and then finally at eight,
tim goes out with plastic bags ready for the worst.


anna says: "she goes this way..."
and so we go this way.
and we hear the faintest of plaintive cries.


the little orange cat way up in the tree.
all night.


big ladder, and mommy, is needed.
i. am. mommy.


she comes to me.
sap covered and collarless.
tired and scared,
but sweetly heavy in my arms,
i walk her into home,
and she drinks as if at a mirage,
and she falls asleep in the laundry.


i am so relieved that i have
what will be merely a story
by the end of the night
to tell lindsey,
and not a bad, ugly truth
that we are left dreaming about
and reworking
in our minds
for a long
time
to come.


oh,
does it ever stop?
do the days ever become predictable
and manageable?
or are we really left
every day
to handle what lies
around every hours' corner?


i say goodnight to you
happily,
with girls
and cats
curled up safely.
for tonight.


thanks for reading.
tt