The Old Tom

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Nine years ago, a large-pawed tom sung his way into my

small cabin.  He’s not happy. At sunset he has been taking

to the window sill, waiting among the orchids. I watch. And,

I wait too, but not so earnestly. Eventually, I get distracted

by something else, a chore most likely, and that’s when it

begins: the growling, the arched posturing against the pane

that I should get around to cleaning sometime soon. “He’s

out there!” he says. “Another one!” And, I turn on the porch

light and confirm, “You are correct.” A lean brown tabby streaks

into the darkness. And, then I say, “Be nice. Don’t you remember

when you were scared and hungry and alone? It was not so long

ago.” And, he looks into me with sharp golden eyes, locked.

Annoyed, I think.  “I’m getting old,” he replies. “Our time

together is short. I will not share you.” And, to make his stance

clear, he turns and marks the front door, the threshold of our

shared life, our cozy home. Suddenly, I’m back in high school

Humanities class, studying mythology. Sooner or later, I recall,

the gods always get jealous.

© 2014-2019/Jamie K. Reaser

From "Coming Home: Learning to Actively Love this World"

To be published by Talking Waters Press in late 2015

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