A feeder of cats

I have become
Late in life
A feeder of cats
Those sleek and sometimes shiny
Sometimes plump and chunky
Often scrawny
Seaside lions and tigers
Leopards and panthers
Those calico, tabby, and orange street cats
That roam this city
And its beaches on the Black Sea
Hungry yet often playful
Looking for spots in the sun
On cold days
Hoping for restaurant scraps
They are dumpster divers
And hopeful panhandlers
Seeking a handout
From the merciful
Or the overfed
Those who pass each day
With leftovers
Or bags of food

Feeding cats is not just about food
Not just a matter of mercy
It is like stepping into a river
And allowing the current to sweep you up and away
It is a kind of surrender
I suppose
An embrace
An immersion
Joining in this simple way
what T.S. Eliot called
“Some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.”*

*Lines quoted from T.S. Eliot’s Preludes

© Jamie McKenzie, all rights reserved.

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