I whisper, in hushed tones,
that she is safe,
stroke her soft furred body
as she lies in my lap,
promise the wolves
won’t get her,
hope she was sleeping
when they came last night
and ripped fur and flesh
from our friend the rabbit
who visited the yard all winter,
but I know she heard the screams,
I can see it in her eyes
when I make my false promises
I make a lot of them these days —
to this cat who needs to be close more often now
and to myself that everything will be OK.
Poem + Photo ©2025, Jen Payne
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