Always Enough

There is always enough.
My old cat of long years, who
stayed all the months of his dying,

though, made sick by food,
he refused to eat, till, long-stroked,
he turned again to accept

another piece of dry catfood
or spoonful of meat, a little water,
another day through which

he purred, small engine
losing heat—I made him nests
of pillow and blanket, a curve of body

where he curled against my legs,
and when the time came, he slipped out
a loose door into the cold world

whose abundance included
the death of his choosing.
~Robin Chapman “Enough” from Abundance

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I remember the long orange carp you once scooped
from the neighbor’s pond, bounding beyond
her swung broom, across summer lawns

to lay the fish on my stoop. Thanks
for that. I’m not one to whom offerings
often get made. You let me feel

how Christ might when I kneel,
weeping in the dark
over the usual maladies: love and its lack.

Only in tears do I speak
directly to him and with such
conviction. And only once you grew frail

did you finally slacken into me,
dozing against my ribs like a child.
You gave up the predatory flinch

that snapped the necks of so many
birds and slow-moving rodents.
Now your once powerful jaw

is malformed by black malignancies.
It hurts to eat. So you surrender in the way
I pray for: Lord, before my own death,

let me learn from this animal’s deep release
into my arms. Let me cease to fear
the embrace that seeks to still me.
~Mary Karr “For a Dying Tomcat Who’s Relinquished His Former Hissing and Predatory Nature”

I have reposted these memories of José after learning of my farmer friend Zach’s recent loss of his 16 year old black farm cat friend Toby, after years of love, companionship, shenanigans and persistent doctoring…

When you look back, Zach, you’ll know Toby’s secret power was to always be enough to get you through the day…

José had been our front porch cat for years.

Not our garage cat, our upper barn cat, our lower barn cat or those that come and go on the farm because we’re a hospitable place where food is always on the table.

He was the king of the farm cats. No one questioned him (usually) and no one occupied his front porch bench/throne without his express permission. His Majesty showed mercy to any who showed proper submission, and every once in awhile, that included the dogs.

He trained every pup here over the years.

He was the official front porch farm greeter, rising from his throne cushion to investigate any newcomer walking up the sidewalk, mewing a cheerful little “chirp” of a meow in welcome. Then he turned around and returned to his perch.

José was a performance cat, having been trained in his younger years to ride on a bareback pad on our Haflingers, at walk, trot and over jumps (sorry, no pictures). This once again proved his ability to get any creature, large or small, to submit to his will.

The only love of his life was our daughter, Lea. As José arrived to our farm at an indeterminate age, we didn’t really know how many years he would be with us. Before Lea headed off to college, and when home on breaks, they had many happy snuggles together for nearly 15 years.

During our harsh winter storms, José would move to a warm farm building with all the necessary provisions until the storm was done, then reclaim his favorite spot on the front porch when he deemed it cozy enough to be worthy of him.

After one particularly nasty storm, when the cold northeast wind went away, José didn’t return from his hiding place.

I looked, I called, I left goodies out. But no José. No chirpy meow, no yellow-eyed gaze, no black velvet fur to stroke, no rumbly purr to vibrate in my lap. I think this tough cat chose a bad winter to leave for warmer quarters far far away.

I suspect – as I still keep an eye out for it — there must be a velvety black coat he abandoned somewhere here on the farm.

He simply didn’t need it any more and unafraid, he left it behind.

photo by Lea