The Day the Cat Died

The day the cat died,
you sat on a stool
in the bathroom
crying

I asked my mother
why you were crying

she said
because the cat died

no,
I said

that’s going to be me,
you said

you didn’t look once
at the cat we had
for twelve years,
the cat that hid
behind the couch
each time
you came home

you cried
in the bathroom
on the stool
with painted balloons
and carousel horses
not wanting to die
like the cat
that laid on the floor
on a blanket
in my bedroom

then I waited
for you to die,
just like the cat
with the brown and orange fur
and you did,
but I did not
sit on the stool
in the bathroom
to cry over you
or the dead cat
you didn’t want to bury
in the backyard

instead
I counted the hours
until the sun came up
without you
for the first time
dividing you
and I.

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