Feral

 

I have always had an affinity for feral cats,

the more feral the better, really.
Something about the fear in their eyes
spoke to the deepest parts of my soul.
Perhaps I presumed
I could make their lives
a bit easier.
Being a nurturer at heart,
it came so naturally
to love them completely,
including the unlovable parts.
 
I imagined I could make
these feral cats
a bit more gentle
and, maybe, just maybe
tame them in the same way
the Little Prince
tamed his Fox
so wheat fields
would suddenly have meaning,
except my hair is not golden
and it was not a fox
I last attempted to tame.
 
My most recent attempt

will be my last,
for of all I have helped, cared for,

and loved,
that one,
the last one,
eviscerated me….when I least expected it.
Granted, I wasn’t at my best at the outset;
going into this particular
feral feline rescue,
my heart was already road weary.
I was fatigued, not on my game,
and less watchful than usual.
Had I been whole, I believe
I would have seen the signs earlier and
avoided the worst of the damage that came my way.
 
That last untamed cat
lulled me into a sense of safety.
for a time.
She had my whole being in the palm of her hand,
my heart utterly hers.
Likewise,
she had nestled into the comfort
of my chest, my belly, my arms
her claws sheathed
and her volatile temper
tucked away.
There was a sense of calm and knowing,
but only for a while
for those temporarily tamed,
return to the wild.
It is only a matter of time.
This one,
the last one,
went feral again without warning.

Then again, once feral, always feral, right?

Having cultivated impermanent trust with other wild felines,

I should have known better.
 
I was already open, raw, and defenseless
but this did not deter her first attack;
there were many which followed.
I had curled into her in the same way she had curled into me,
so I never saw it coming.
As was our routine, she came calling late at night
to rest or feed on the bounty of my care before retiring,
but instead of the usual
curling and unfurling of dark fur against my skin,
razor teeth sunk deeply into my shoulder,
one of several places she used to rest her frightened and fatigued head.
Terrified, she clawed her way out of my heart leaving
me, stunned and hemorrhaging in a crumpled heap,
watching lifeblood, hers and mine, trickle
down my breasts,
over the curve of my belly,
and pool between my thighs.
 
This cat,
the very last feral
I will ever invite into my warm and welcoming world,
bit the hand that fed her,
cruelly clawed her way free,
and now, I suspect,
feels more lost than ever before.

~ Mk Michaels, 2015