I sometimes wish I could transplant myself,
back to a time, when I was a wee one,
and angry at things that my elders would bring,
but at the same time, marvelling at so many things.
Tommy showed up one night during a major snow storm,
after Dad had built another small house across the drive,
away from dementia, angry and senile Grampie,
who was driving my mother pretty mad with his demands.
Tommy Cat was my first experience with a wild critter,
at first Daddy didn't want to let him in, but I begged him.
It was a terrible storm outside and he was freezing
at our door, yowling, not ashamed to ask for warmth.
So, he came inside. First time he jumped on the table
to go at Mom's parakeet, he felt the swift blow
of my father's hand. Over the years he learned his place.
He would come and go, weeks and even months at a time,
sometimes showing up all beaten up and bloody,
but he always was a loving cat, at least with me,
and cordial to everyone else.
But, there was one time when I was riding my horse,
out amongst the trees, along the creek,
and I spotted Tommy, on the other side.
I was delighted to see him, he hadn't been
around for quite a while.
I called to him, he looked at me with suspicion
and disappeared again, amongst the alters and trees,
and I felt a weakness of sadness and betrayal
in my knees.
But, before too long, he showed up again,
a bit beaten and tired,
on my lap again, purring,
until he was gone again.
I loved Tommy, only cat I ever truly loved.
Maybe he even loved me.