Poetry and Softness

I used to write poetry when I was a little girl. I used to write in a flower covered journal all my quirky poems: some I made up and some I copied down - just to remember. I remember I loved Helen Steiner Rice poems, but I honestly don’t know who she is now.

Last week our cat of eleven years died. After the tears, and the massive guilt, I thought about these old poems. When I was young I saw a poster about a man’s best friend being his dog. As a ten year old little girl, it made me query about a “woman’s” best friend. I was an early “Equal Rights” advocate, before the term “feminism” was even around. I sat on my bed with my childhood cat Puddin scrawled on my paper, grabbing my pen as I jotted these words:

“A Cat is a woman’s best friend!”

I must have felt some sort of satisfaction at this statement. I must have believed by writing these words I was righting some sort of umbrage the original poster implied. Who knows, what goes through a little girls mind. I do remember feeling a sense of loyalty toward Puddin with words contradicting men and dogs and this somehow elevated Puddin’s existence.

So what does this really have to do with my daughters’ childhood cat dying this last week? I’m not entirely sure, other than the incident brought to mind the love and homage we have for our dear four legged siblings. My daughters were broken, as we ruminated over “Ollie Cats” life. The image of my oldest daughter holding her love will be difficult to blot out. Rushing to the vet, interrupting the receptionist, pleading with her to hurry because Ollie was in trouble; it’s hard to get it out of my mind. It all seems like a fast forwarded movie- watching the flash of blurred colors on the screen, only to stop at the part that you were hoping to miss- Ollie was gone.

It’s been a week now, and we are coping. I know that time will move on and we will heal, but my daughters get quiet when they see the other animals in the house walk by. I made the mistake of calling our other cat “Ollie” tonight at dinner, and the whole table was silent. Until the dog ran after her and we all laughed…waiting for the moment to breathe.

To some, this may seem melodramatic. There are so many “Cat Haters” in the world- I almost feel that we have to grieve in silence.
So, I guess as I think about Ollie, and Puddin and all the other softness that has touched my life, it makes sense that poetry would trigger my mind. Poetry like pets is a door to our childhood selves. Rudyard Kipling wrote, Power of the Dog, he tells of the love one has of their dog:

When the spirit that answered your every mood

Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,

You will discover how much you care,

And will give your heart for the dog to tear.

If I had discovered this little gem of a poem when I was little, I may have felt compelled to leave a kitten on Mr. Kipling’s doorstep.