Bones

This poem is a rework of an older one, inspired by today’s daily prompt: Frantic

We never did find the cat in question…

Bones

That’s my kitten! That’s Bones!
I clutched my mother’s arm
in the parking lot that summer day.
The heat rose up in waves you could see;
the kitten limped toward us, crystalline eyes
searching, finding us familiar.

It only looks like Bones, she said.
There are lots of brown striped ones.
The whole shopping trip,
panic fluttered in my chest
as we walked from store to store.
How can she not know that’s my kitten?
How can she not believe me?

There are lots of brown striped ones
but not with his face,
that star pattern on the forehead,
shape of the eyes, white whiskers,
just a little white on the feet—

When we got back to the car
she said See? It’s gone now.
Gone to its home.
And when we got to our home
of course, there was no Bones.

Frantic, she drove back to town.
I’m sorry, honey, so sorry,
he must’ve been in the engine—
no Bones on the lot now,
he’s gone somewhere,
not fucking home has he?

We never found him.
Months later, she swore
she saw Bones in someone’s yard
right by the parking lot.
He’s someone else’s cat now,
big and healthy—

I said probably it just looked like him.
How can you tell?
There are lots of brown striped ones.