Kate Peterson

On Stealing My Neighbor's Calico

I would like to steal my neighbor's cat. She follows me home
each day, each footfall snapping up like a child's rubber ball

across the pavement. She has no collar, no small bell.
Her left eye is green and cloudy like my eastern marshes.

I wonder what might happen if I closed the door behind us,
if she climbed onto my small couch, investigated my closets like a teenager —

Where are your good shoes? Why don’t you have any good shoes?

I would need to buy all the Claritin on the South Hill, get a refill on my inhaler. And I
could stop right now with those thoughts of waking up and deciding to drive to Canada.

Just for the day. I would like to be the kind of person who takes care of someone

without needing something in return. This cat doesn't care
who I am. She trusts me to touch her on her soft calico belly

she trusts me to walk away without her in my arms. Just this once
I would like to understand that kind of love.