When She Was a Kitten

When M&M was a very young 
kitten, she was most tractable 
and cuddly. But then in late 
summer, she became very 
aggressive. 

She would bite if you began 
to pet her on your lap.

She would chase after you 
and leap for your hand, 
and bite you, drawing blood, 
and then bound away in 
apparent delight.

This was play. It was clear 
that she did not intend to 
hurt you. She'd had no cat 
mother to teach her that 
biting is not acceptable.

I never did manage 
to teach her not to do it.

But, after some years, she 
has apparently outgrown 
these games.

I was so frustrated in August,
1998, that I put my emotions 
into a bit of verse.

Here it is (told you 
I'd post a little verse 
from time to time).

THE WILD KITTEN

I think about how beautiful she is:
Her soft black coat.
And the intent demand
I see within her staring hazel eyes.
Her muscles aiming light feet
At my hand.

I think about her swift, her fluid
Motion.
The sable, changing
Shape she can express.
The gleam of tide-pool eyes--
From what far ocean?
One leap,
And she has placed
Her fanged caress.

Back in the springtime,
Lost.
Her eight-ounce heft--
Only soy milk and me
To mother her.
Now hypodermic teeth
Return my gift
As I receive
Her weight of shining fur.

What is the ratio here of eye
To tooth,
Of fur to skull, I think,
On this cat face?
How can I balance
Between love and truth:
Unlink
Pain from this grace?

--Mary Bull,
August 17, 1998