Kitten love

Jim sings to Pascha,
as I try to compose a poem:
Love is not what's in your bowl
Love is what holds you in the soul.

Back story:
Pascha, born in Hawai'i, November 2004,
came to us weighing less than two pounds.
He couldn't walk right,
his tail was broken.
He shivered and hid
in a little cubby in an old stereo speaker.

But he found love in the form
of two other cats,
me and Jim.

He ate and ate,
and grew like a weed.

Nine years later,
he's crossed the Pacific and the continent.
In New York, he weighs
twenty-one pounds, three ounces.

At the vet, we were told -- again --
that he needs to lose some weight.
This time, the consequences looked more dire.
A bulge underneath his heart
showed up on an x-ray.
A tumor? An abcess?
Or simply fat?

He's a healthy cat,
except for the weight.
He chases birds, mice, and squirrels.
He climbs trees and windows.
He can outrun me.

On the x-ray table,
he showed no signs of pain
when he was flattened so the image
could be shot; he doesn't wheeze or
show discomfort.
He simply acts like a cat
who loves food.

I, too, act like a cat
who loves food.
And I dropped twenty-eight pounds
in two years by learning to love food
a little less.

So we're cutting back on food
for Pascha, and the other cats --
who eat what they need -- and
are normal weights.

Pascha cries. And so Jim holds him
and sings:
Love is not what's in your bowl.
Love is what holds you in the soul.