No One’s Home

The cat sniffs the body
Of her own dead lady.
She sure does smell different,
Yet her perfume still lingers.
Th sad look on her face
Is fading painfully.
The cold hands lay still,
Kissed by surrender
And broken by neglect.
The cat smells the hands;
The perfume still lingers.
With a steady walk,
And tender steps,
She moves near her face.
She approaches her eyes,
Mildly shut, peacefully voyaging,
And stares into their thankful blankness.
From her mouth rises the smell of sleep
Mingled with a jaded smile,
A prodigy of slaughtering awareness.
The cat is hungry.
She turns around
And walks towards her bowl;
It is empty,
Tidy and empty.
The cat heads for the food cabinet.
Like usual, its radiant tail
Knocks down the lady’s trophy.
The cat should be careful.
She walks slowly and cautiously
When crossing on the marble table.
She doesn’t want to bump,
Accidentally,
Into the lady’s family pictures.
The cat wonders why did the lady,
So proudly,
Gather her certificates
So messily together on the table.
It is hard to pass without,
Unintentionally,
Crumbling them down.
Good enough!
Only one fell.
The rest of the way is easy,
Empty and clean.
When the cat finally gets to the cabinet,
And before she opens it,
She notices a chicken breast,
All cooked and ready.
It is put on the lady’s plate,
And next to it,
A fork and a knife are placed neatly.
The cat walks towards the plate
And starts eating.