Feeding the Cats

a visitation to the floor above

seeing if the bowls have emptied

since two days prior, to which a 

similar prologue marked that

ascension too.

some days the blue bag empties

quicker than others, often spiraling

awareness to the forefront of mind.

the importance of the message,

magically forms symbols along

the next blank line, below those

used to notate milk, bread & eggs.

other days it seems as if a fasting

was underway, where hours would

morph to days, yet the levels of

the bowls would not diminish, 

remaining consistent to the day filled full.

nerves then conjure, for fear that something

is amiss, that perhaps an illness had swooped 

in through the cracks where whispering air 

somehow sneaks its way inside.

behind the windows and the winter-seal,

there is a leak someplace, yet energy ceases

quickly, leaving another line to make upon

the never-completed list of actions to remember.

but lack of appetite should not be questioned,

as each morning they beg for a slice of turkey, 

a tradition that never should have been started,

hands stretch long, nails just so extend, enough

to get attention, but never attempting to pierce

the skin.

I watch them circle the kitchen floor, 

tails high, singing the songs I do so enjoy, and

they seem fine to me, fine as they always do.

so perhaps the mystery of the bowls 

patternless exhaustion, has more to do

with sending a message, perhaps, " hey,

we've been eating the same stuff time and again, 

how bout switching things up now and then."

so today, as I made the trek up the flight of stairs,

the bag is no longer blue, this time I bought the 

orange instead. 

seconds after the bowls were filled, the two came

flying from where I wish I would've paid closer

attention to, as I've failed in finding their secret

hiding spaces now for many years.

they heard the sound of clink-a-clink-clink, and I 

imagine how their heads perked up, listening to

the sound of some foreign feast being served, as if they

can tell that by the sound that was made.

but pleased I was, when they buried their heads deep into

the bowls, the orange one, well, she of course, had to see 

if something different was in where the black one was feasting there,

only to find out it was the same as she had just tasted at her own.

yet, for unknown reasons, she refused to go back to her own, and decided to finish her lunch at cocoa's bowl, which is fine, because he just shrugged his head the best he could, and quickly found his mouth upon the food she had moments prior left in abandonment.

later that afternoon they came to my room, 

not at the same time, but each came by to say

their thanks, the orange one announcing her entry 

as she's often accustomed to do, proudly chanting, "meow-meow," a few times until I pet her head.

the black one, well, he didn't make any proclamation of hello, he never does do that though, instead, he sat in bunny shape( it's what we've always called that bread loaf posture they often take) and sat there by the register, watching me watching him.