Cats and Dogs

In the last few pages of his book, the

poet I am reading writes about cats

with whom he has shared his home

over time.

One had its back broken when it

was run over by a car, but managed

to somehow survive.

Another was nearly toothless and

could barely see, yet continued to

retain its imperial state of being.

Still another had been neutered and

declawed, but instinctively had fight

and superiority left in him to exercise.

Cats never give up. That’s why we

bestow upon them their legendary

9-lives decree.

The old poet himself had seen better

days. There was hope, though, sad

and forlorn as it seems, that he too

could go on to survive yet another day.

He said of his cats: they may complain

but never worry. They walk (or crawl)

with a surprising dignity. They sleep

with a direct simplicity that humans

just can’t understand. When I’m feeling

low (he continues), all I have to do is

watch my cats and my courage returns.

Now, I too have descended into the dark

and cavernous depthds of old age. All

my life, however, I have been a dog person.

And, as with my canine companions, I find

myself more reliant a docile and reassuring

daily routine rather than a brazen hissing

and clawing tenacity.

I have come to realize that it is more than

likely too late or virtually impossible for me

at this point in time to make significant

changes in my unwavering ways.

There is a touch of crusty defiance which

has settled over me nonetheless. For over

forty years now, I have remained steadfast

in my refusal to shave.

And all the dogs who have lived with me

in their lifetimes have never recognized

me any other way.

Chris Hanch 8-17-18