Somba

I miss you like my oak tree shivers,

missing its leaves in winter.

I abandoned you when I moved to Kansas City. 

At least, that what I tell myself.

Do you like your new owners?

What about the new dog they have?

Do you hiss at him like when you first met? 

Then I knew you had strength and cat-charisma

and would do fine.

You were perfect for me 

like the cool water in our pool in summer 

or a cup of coffee with real cream 

or a dream that makes sense.

You played outside.

You chased birds and rabbits.

You brought me a rabbit as a gift.

I screamed.

You were just as happy inside, too.

You never made a mess  

in all the time I had you.

You slept on my bed.

You slept on my reading chair.

You curled up beside me, 

put your paw on my book.

You strolled to the door when you wanted out, 

looked back to see if I followed.

You came when I called you.

You were the perfect cat 

and I abandoned you.

I’ve seen pictures of you in your new home.

How dare you look so happy.

You’re supposed to help me feel guilty 

for abandoning you.

But maybe I’ve got this backward. 

Maybe I abandoned me, not you. 

I didn’t give you credit for being who you are 

no matter where you live.

You didn’t change your personality.

You kept your impeccable habits.

You’re still the perfect cat, your new owners tell me.

Happily satisfied in your new home, they say.

You’re as beautiful as ever.

Your shiny, black coat,

Your petite facial features

that transform into a racy look in your eyes 

when you pursue a squirrel, 

yet switch to a delicate, proud walk around the neighborhood, 

checking out neighbors’ porches, 

hanging out until they love on you, 

back home where I’m waiting to talk to you,

 rub your ears, 

and stare into your bright, yellow eyes.

I abandoned you

because I didn’t want to confine you indoors

and I can’t let you run free in my new digs.

Yet, your new family says they keep you inside.

Wait! What happened? 

Did I read you wrong

or are you so polite and well-behaved

that you took to the inside

like fish to a new bowl of water?

Maybe I didn’t abandon you. 

Maybe that’s my idea only, 

and a wrong one.

Can I look at this another way?

I moved to start a new life.

Reinvention, I call it.

Maybe you and I are still connected

because we’re on a similar journey.

Starting anew.

Expanding our sights.

Experimenting with new opportunities.

Having more life to love.

I wish you peace 

like you gave me when we were together.

I wish you companionship 

like you shared.

We both move on,

celebrate our connection,

blow out the candles,

and reach for new richness

because what we shared

never ends .