In the Dream the Cat was Ecstatic
by Robert Gibbons
A few blank pages left in the latest notebook. March still holding on to snow cover. The bobcat stuck close to dry pavement before slipping through the locked, wrought-iron fence, making its accidental sanctuary. Tufted ears, massive head, color of a coffee stain. He’s no bay linx, what with some domestic ancestry evident in the ring tail.
Three different people expressed aesthetic appreciation for the day’s natural wonder, mixing bright sun with both blues of sea & sky, & for good reason, too: one worked fourteen years in a windowless freezer; another twelve hours a day, now, catering banquets; the third said that last year at this time in her previous apartment she could put her hand under the windowsill & touch the wall outside. Loved their genuine awe, earned through dark contrasts.
I wanted to feed the wildcat last night’s leftover salmon she packed for lunch, but I’ve seen him get his back up, fur arch & hiss, before. Besides I’d be too slow to follow. Instead, shared it with a guy who’s caught & released salmon many times in his life before, someone able to grasp nuances in tastes of an underlying base of oil & soy, garlic, onion, & jalapeno, along with mango, anise seed, & Chinese red pepper. Salt & crushed coriander on top with a last, long, thin line of Maine maple syrup for good measure.