"Carlos Barlos"

Bent tail in tow, Carlos laughed at the odds and lived life well. I am sure death trembled before taking him. If not for his Indian cry, then because he was special. Raised on the streets of Columbia, Mo. He caused no sorrow.

I promise, I will never see a face like his, in years of cats to come.

Godspeed Carlos.



A wounded bird under leafy branches
Adjusting feathers
Lifting a heavy head to reveal a bloody neck

The cats are circling
Infection setting in
Hard rain

The next morning

Little pink lips
White legs akimbo
You were almost dead when you started
Practicing your grand exit

I buried the bird you killed
Instead of you
I imagine someone threw you in the trash

When I whistled for you in the morning
Butterflies instead
I guess I knew
I always knew