Bad Poetry as Status Update: Re-Purposing

Everything deserves more than one use

(though, if it's electronic, may serve less):

as. when part of it's been worn out, the dress

becomes shirt, skirt, sleepwear, or child's gown,

the roses ripen into seedy berries,

or yesterday's newspaper pads a box.

A few times every year, the real world carries

the energy out of the brand, Priscilla,

into the mortal realm. I pause to tell you

the next installment of a sad cat's tale.

Our Silver cat had kittens. Not for long.

The air'd been poisoned; they weren't born strong.

Silver went her way mourning. When I held her

she did not cry aloud, as some cats do,

but her breath came in sobs; my knees felt her

weeping like any mother whose child died.

Before this season Silver's joy and pride 

was managing the possums, cleaning crew.

I thought young Dasher Possum was quite mad.

Silver insisted she'd keep him in bounds.

The possum's job not done, this week, I've found.

Silver missed dinner. Anguish in her eyes,

she had no appetite for breakfast next day,

and that was when I felt her silent cries

and saw her hold one paw a different way:

a scratch, a bruise, some swelling. Then the young

crowded around her, looking for affection.

Eyes brightening, Silver groomed and tried to feed

the niece and nephews seeking her protection.

I separated them last night. The males

slept in a cage. Silver shared Dora's box.

The paw was stiff, this morning, but she ate

and drank before she came back in to rest.

A passer-by: "Something has died near here."

Among the rocks below the road is where

all kinds of creatures go, when life Goes West.

Not only for the kittens Silver cried.

The beasts know life goes on. A makeshift filler-

in with surplus milk for the neediest kitten

Silver will be, if she survives being bitten.

(In summary: The cat Silver is still showing physical stress, still lying down indoors when she would normally be hanging out with her friends and family outdoors, but her niece and nephews seem to have snapped her right out of her depression. I'm not worried about leaving her at home when I go out, today. 

In a healthier world, I think Silver might benefit from being spayed--but as long as she has no legal protection from being sprayed with poison, allowing her body to flush out the poison through the placentas of doomed kittens may be saving her from worse pain. Hold poison sprayers to account for the harm they do, dear veterinarian neighbor, and then you may operate on Silver.

My social cats take the possums who clean the sand pit as they find them. Not all of them feel that all of the possums are pets. Silver has seemed to feel that way about the ones she's known. Other possums who seemed to be pets behaved nicely toward kittens. Dasher didn't. I'm guessing that, right after losing the one kitten who seemed as if it could live, Silver found Dasher glaring or growling at kittens and made that decision every pet owner dreads having to make.)