dinner of a lifetime

sometimes when I’m overdue
to feed the cats, they look at me
and I can practically see
the thought go through
their furry little skulls: “Is today the day
we get to eat your face, mommy?”

and when Diablo runs between my legs
as I’m running up or down
the (narrow, steep, dangerous) stairs
I tell him, “you know, you only get
to dine on my face once.
then you’ll be hungry
until someone else comes
and takes you away. not trying
to tell you what to do, but
you might want to
keep that in mind
when engaging in activities
that seem likely to precipitate
my premature death.”

he draws my hand towards him
with his paws
and gently bites my fingers.
he insists on cuddling and then
nibbles my face. it seems
like a love bite but I know
he’s taste-testing me,
checking for doneness.
Kitty is more discreet;
she just licks my hand from
time to time almost
like a dog.

I hope
when the time comes
for me to die alone
in my apartment
that the cats find the act of
dining on my face
as exciting as all of us anticipate
the happy event to be.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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