Feeding Columbus

Originally posted on 11/29/2010; original title, “Squirrel.”

Columbus, fat and matted cat,
half-feral neighborhood terror,
is killing a squirrel on my front lawn
and I have come outside to stop the noise.

I chase Columbus off.
He does not go far,
sits and watches
from the sidewalk.

I bend over the small screaming body.
The squirrel gets up
and tries to climb the maple three times,
getting no farther than four or five feet up

before there’s a clumsy tumble
and now he is squirming on the ground,
panting, squeaking softly
like a balloon losing air.

I am glad my knife is sharp.
I lean in and set the point
on the ground near the neck,
then draw it firmly across the leaking wound.

I wipe the blade on the rough grass
next to the curb. I step away from the body.
Columbus is still there,
waiting to see what has happened.

Once back inside I wash the blade
for ten minutes
under the hottest water I can stand,
then do the same with my hands.

I can’t stop shaking
though I know I have done
the right thing. Console myself saying
that this is sometimes what it takes; then

I put “cat food” on the grocery list
and find a small bowl I can spare
for the back step, for I have just now resolved
to feed Columbus in the dark starting tonight.