Kipilefti

I upend the cat onto my lap; he lies there contentedly, upside-down, all four legs and his tail grouped together. I watch as he starts to wash his paws, hold his tail for him so he can clean it properly. Sometimes he misses and cleans my fingers instead. Sometimes he stops and just looks up at me with his pale wintergreen eyes.

I can’t quite bring myself to be here, not completely. Even as I coax his brother onto my lap as well, double-decker cats purring noncommittally, my mind inexorably drifts elsewhere: the church at the beach that we always walk by on our way to town; the cafe near Swarthmore where we occasionally went for lunch; the loveseat in our sunroom at home, which in my mind is still occupied by the two cats who are now buried in our backyard.