Her niece complained

”She’s the reason I didn’t have kids”

And “She’s the reason my husband and I never go on vacation”

She explained, “She’s why I lost all my bids”

The frail old lady (she was in her late 80s) softly said, “I just want to stay at home, I’m fine”

She shrugged and said somberly, “Besides, the house is mine”

The niece, exasperated, said, “She lives with a hundred ferral cats”

And the old woman replied, “What’s wrong with that?”

The niece said the woman wouldn’t accept help

The look on the woman’s face was one of go away

I sat in between the two like a piece of ham in a sandwich

“Everyone thinks she’s a witch!” cried the niece

A few weeks later I saw the report

That old woman was found by the NPD in more than one piece

Her step ladder in the kitchen was just a bit too short

Her once sad eyes were no more

A throng of cats was splayed out on the floor

Black and white, tabbies, Siamese, and strays

The woman had said, “The cats always had me”

The police were stunted like that step ladder

The niece got the news and thought What does it matter?

She went by that house one more time and let in another cat

She pulled up her hood

Told herself it was good

As she let in another

The death of the old woman made some people wonder

For the niece, it was too late to have babies

And for vacations she was too lazy

There was no one to blame lately

So she went into that house and lay down with the cats

When she didn’t come out, the police asked the neighbors for facts

I wasn’t so burdened by my work so I walked the train tracks

Eating a ham sandwich

I thought about how in both womens’ stories there seemed to be a glitch

One wanted to help, one didn’t want to be helped

From across the street I watched candles in the windows melt

I never saw the old woman or the niece again

Just a lot of cats (my dad always said I should have been a veterinarian)

At sunset, out of that house flew some bats

I took off my white coat and went on to be what I’d always wanted: a cemetarian