Hamilton and Bianca
Hamilton and Bianca, siblings,
look fresh as bread from the bakery.
Bianca, reddish-splotched white guy
Hamilton arrive attached
as if still in the womb. Spaying
almost undoes Bianca. Careless,
sloppy work allotted shelter cats
leaves her so loosely half-stitched
she almost spills her innards
and has to see a second vet
for repair. Separated, caged,
the siblings droop like daffodils.
Hamilton tries to befriend
his neighbor, but pines for his sister.
She curls into a seashell-shape
and refuses, when petted, to purr.
The life of the big room grinds on.
Bianca heals, but she’s sorry
she ever became a cat. A couple
employed by MIT arrive,
embrace the siblings, depart
with two cat carriers brimming.
A week later a chronicle,
with photos: brother and sister
playing, eating, trailing after
their doting human companions.
The last photo: two cats curled
together so tightly they merge.
The caption: “All tuckered out.”