And another poem

(Stuff is still kinda weighing on me, but writing what might not be very good poetry about it helps a little. So here's another)

Black cats

I used to dream about having a group of cats

In the dream, I was neglecting them.

I figured it was a warning from my subconscious that there

Was something I wasn’t attending to in my life.

The first of the black cats showed up late one July day.

A phone call came: “If you at all can, you should probably get up here”

Was the gist of it.

So I did.

Shortly after, the giant black Maine Coon showed up.

It would hiss at me and swat my hand with full claws

Whenever I approached it.  It drew blood and always

Caused tears.

Later, smaller cats came to join it, after I learned

Of colleagues moving on, of new duties of theirs I had to shoulder

Of upheaval in other places I held dear.

These cats did not bite or swat so much,

And yet, still needed to be considered.

The last big one arrived – scarred, and with a limp – after a friend

Fell strangely silent on social media, until the day

I learned the sad reason why. That cat was the last large one.

But several other smaller ones followed: One for a lost acquaintance;

Two kittenish ones when things unexpectedly broke; a small

Mewling one when I was given one more responsibility than I could

Graciously manage.

The cats remain; some days I must attend to them

And cannot easily accomplish the other things I would do

They sit on my chest and weigh me down, prevent me from knitting,

Steal my attention from my book.

At other times, they are so silent I can almost forget they are here.

But then they stare at me out of baleful orange eyes

And at night, sometimes, they howl.