The Pet
By Cate Marvin
I rode him through the village, smiling.
He tossed his tasseled mane in distress.
The villagers took his gesture as vanity,
and made no attempt to rein him back.
Camped at night by stream and fire,
he seemed to think stories were in order.
The ghoulish tales that twisted out his mouth
no longer frightened me. On leaving,
I'd taken on a certain complacency. Later,
he'd characterize my silence as merely
mean. But what is mean about a mouth
that, having no stories, claims it can provide
no flower for the ear, no wine for the wind?
I tried: I told the tale of him, which he
(the version being mine) was not much
interested in. But all of us; the fattening
moon, the yewey trees, the sharp-toothed
stars who combed their glowing backs against
the sky like cats; we laughed. And now
that I had left, where would I take him?
He was vehicle and, as such, responsibility.
He was deadening, tiresome, and necessary.
I made ourselves a home and kept him gently
as a pet. Visitors often wonder aloud,
How do you manage to keep such a creature
inside? The floors are stained with his keep.
I tell them my heart is huge and its doors
are small. Once I took him in he grew. Now
I cannot remove him without killing him,
which, frankly, I have never wanted to do.
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I woke up with an even worse sore throat than on Yom Kippur, not helped by having been used as the mountain for a mountain-climbing kitten at insane hours of the night, so didn't get out of bed till after 9 and was slow to get anything done in the morning. When Adam got home from Hebrew school, we decided to go pick raspberries and the first of the season's apples, though there's no Red Delicious yet. It was over 80 degrees despite being the equinox and a beautiful day to be outdoors, but there are pumpkins coming ripe and the Butler's Orchard store is all decorated and stocked for Halloween, so it was a lovely afternoon.
Came home, had dinner and busted a gut laughing at The Family Guy Star Wars episode, which
We have been keeping Daisy in our bedroom when we go out but letting her have the run of the house when we are home. Somehow she managed to trap herself in the basement bathroom where the litter boxes reside and we didn't hear her whining pathetically for half an hour! She survived this trauma and is now sprawled on the couch mewling to get her chin and belly stroked. Or maybe she is mewling about the Redskins' collapse against the Giants...
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