Feral Kitty

Feral Kitty
—Massage and our inner kitty

Who’s hiding under there?
Under that tension and thought.
Under that he said/she said.
Under that concept and intent?

You want the massage nice and deep.
Yeah, I know. “More is better.  No pain, no gain.”
You can’t feel anything unless it’s an assault.
Why do you think more of the same will feel better?

I could go into your body with my elbow.
Grab that stiff muscle and squeeze.
Give you more of the same hard, blank, stiff stuff.
Hear that growl and hiss one more time.

Oh, just for the fun of it,
Let’s try something different.
Let’s make it sweet and safe.

Fresh air, blowing weeds, and an occasional dancing leaf.
And there, in the middle of a tumble of tall grass,
Is a saucer of milk.
Sweet, cold, wet, rich milk.
Just for you.

Who comes out of those stiff shoulders?
Who moves out of that immobile neck?

Slowly and surely,
Like that nodding aster in the breeze—unthreatening.
Here she comes, HMMMM?
Carefully.  Looking both ways.

Gently and sweetly as can be, hear the lap, lap, lapping.
Gently and neatly as can be,
the bubble of white sop on her chin, white spray on her nose.
Sounds of breathing and lapping at the same time.

If we keep it gentle, she’ll stay out here in the sun.
Maybe she’ll stretch and yawn and clean herself.
Maybe she’ll meow rather than bristle, stiffen, and run.

If we entice her just so,
and keep it safe, and keep that saucer full,
She’ll stay around.

Amazing how that bristling fur really is soft as can be.
And that voice is gentle as a milkweed seed floating in the breeze.

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