Two friends and I looked at our empty lives
and echoing caverns of our houses,
decided we would no longer mope
after mourning our losses.
So we drove to the animal shelter.
One came home with a senior cat
perfectly suited to her age and apartment.
Another, brave mad woman she is,
got a kitten and rambunctious puppy.
I filled my vacant space
with a tuxedo kitten and young orange cat.
The house rings with their galloping feet,
tinkle of bells, the catnip mice.
Now I tell tales of their silly antics,
friends come to visit the kits.
I scoop out the litter boxes,
laugh at them both. They cuddle with me.
About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Patricia Wellingham-Jones is a widely published former psychology researcher and writer/editor. She has a special interest in healing writing, with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew.