Ahead Of The Storm

Waiting for the storm to begin
out there in the dark,
the cat charges around and around,
knocking things over, 
breaking my sleep.

I get up and ask her what’s wrong.
I never learn the answer,

but she drops to the ground,
rolls over and takes a belly scratch
without attempting
to tear my hand apart for once.

We’re in this together,
she seems to say.  What’s coming
is going to be long and difficult.
Take time with me, I’ll offer
some time of my own to you.

She got up on the fridge to sleep.
I’m still awake an hour later,
chasing something around and around,
something I can’t seem to catch.

I turn to the cat  for advice — damn,

where’d she go?
Can’t hear her in the house anywhere,
not above the noise of the storm
rising outside.

Only one thing to do now — wait.
Lie down, try to get back to sleep.
Maybe she’ll be here on the bed
in the morning.