Not Kids

“Hi, kids,”

is how I greet the cats
this morning
while threading my way
between their passive-
aggressive body thrusts
against my legs as I 
try to get to the bathroom
before feeding them, my priorities
not focused on their needs
right now, leading them
to decide I must be
shrooming or something
to be so out of touch
with the nature of reality as to put
my urgent need before theirs.

By which I mean to say
that I do not subscribe 
to the notion that pets are kids
for all of us childless people
of the world, and that I am glad
these two
are direct and gentle enough
in their opinion of me
not to force the point so far
as to carve me with their claws
or make me trip and fall
until I cave in and feed them
before I can get to where I need to go,
later to crumble in shame and fury
simply because I must put myself first at times,
and I am forced again and again
to understand that is not allowed.

It tells me that I did not absorb
all the lessons of my family
and transfer them to how I love
these two.