Vivarium Intrigue

 

 

Facebook post:

“I will strictly be engaging in orange cat behavior today, no I will not elaborate”

provides impetus for a poetic twinge—

 

I remembered I once ‘killed’ a cat on paper because,

when I took it out of its cage to tattoo its ear,

it wrapped its front paws all the way around my neck,

laid its head down on my shoulder, and actually hugged me.

(He was a great big orange tabby cat.)

I stood stunned to near-tears by this behavior,

arms weighed down by his poignant bulk,

then I put him back in his cage with no tattoo

and called a cat-loving friend over in the lung volume study

to see if she would take him.

(She absolutely would.)

I took his paperwork and checked the ‘deceased’ box:

“Did not survive anesthesia,” and in a little while

she arrived surreptitiously with a towel to hide him in.

Her face lit up when I handed him to her, and

I whispered, “No-one can see you leave with him!”

We peeked around corners until the coast was clear

and crept slyly down the hall to the back door

where she slipped out, no-one the wiser.

(We named him “Garfield”)