It's Still Life

The Cat Watches the Sky Slopes (A Tragedy in Four Paws)

The cat buries his face in the old woman’s sleeve.
“Make it stop,” he whimpers,
one eye peeking at the telly.
“They’re falling.
Tumbling.
Cartwheeling through the snow.

WHERE ARE THEIR CLAWS?”

She strokes between his ears.
“They have skis, cat.
And skill.
And helmets.”

“Helmets?
Helmets don’t protect dignity!
I fall off the sofa once … just once,
and you never let me forget it!
And they get medals for it!
It’s unfair!”

A skier catches an edge,
spins like a leaf in a gale,
and lands in a puff of powder.
The cat gasps.
“Did he… live?
Is there… aftercare?
Will he ever trust gravity again?”

“He’s fine, cat.
He’ll get up and try again.”

“Madness,” he mutters,
climbing into her lap…

“We are a fragile people,
you and I.
We understand that safety
is a warm lap,
a locked door,
a cup of tea,
and no sudden movements
unless there’s a feather involved.”

He watches a few more seconds,
then closes his eyes firmly.
“Wake me when they invent
a sport that involves
lying very still
and judging from afar.”