At times I grow weary of wondering if our cat is going to come home this time.
Every time, I wonder that, about our fluffy, precious, absent cat.
I could be canvassing the neighbourhood each and every time
I have this feeling or that –
about the chances we might once again regain our cat…
But I won’t.
This is always a waiting game –
and for me, a chance to explore what Faith might be.
I wrote this poem because Jenkins hasn’t come home in two days and Mallory tells me I should channel my worrying into some kind of artwork. So I wrote a poem, and now it’s yours. It has some rhymes in it but not in all the places you’d want them, so I guess it counts. I do feel a little better.
Jenkins is probably still dead this time, though.
How is Roy? I hope his carrots come in this year.
Did I leave my scissors on your porch?