is that how the cat felt 

when we lifted him up

from his box? 

he’s meowing fiercely, 

his body twisting and

his feet whirling and kicking 

around in the air as if he’s 

battling ghosts.

then slowly

and selfishly 

we lowered 

him

into

our box. 

they said don’t worry, 

cats are very adaptive.

they ran us through the knitty-gritty: 

he was 6 years old, 

used to stray and 

after they found him 

they had him castrated 

and most of his teeth 

pulled out 

due to seriously 

infected gums. 

“but now he’s doing very well,”

they said, looking into 

his green eyes 

that spoke 

sadness. 

then they went on to teach us 

how to play with the cat, 

how to cut his nails and 

when to give him a good wax,

a brush, an injection, 

what to feed him, when to feed him, 

how important it is to 

ignore his calling sometimes

so as not to spoil him. 

I was slipping in and out 

because I was busy 

watching him, 

his sad green eyes 

rolling about 

behind the slats, 

and I wondered 

what if none of what they said 

was true? 

what if he wasn’t happy about 

the move? 

what if he didn't even want 

to be rescued? 

what if he just wanted to 

to live in pain and 

die with some

dignity?

soon we left. 

it was raining. 

the cat was fretting about 

in the box.

5 minutes later 

we're at the taxi stand. 

we looked in the 

box again and 

he's already settling 

in there, 

not looking anywhere,

his eyes as sad as ever.

how I wished they're right.