It’s times like these, I miss that cat.

You taught me ‘thunder,’ but not how to make it stop.


You come and go (Where do you go all day?)

But that cat – that magic cat, who turned off the sky with a flick of her tail,

and back on again with a yawn –

She came to stay.


You would not name her.


Now, you say, “That was no magic cat, only a stray —

And, anyway, she could not turn off – or on – the sky!


She told me that you would say that, and that all people lie.


Now, the cat you would not name – she being ‘the blackest thing you ever saw,’

and you being ‘superstitious’ (What does that even mean?) – is gone.


The sky is lit up loud and I, still afraid, know what her flick is worth.


Do not preach to me of cats and sky battles.

(Scoff all you like, but I’ve yet to see your tail perform such a feat.)


It’s times like these, I miss that cat.

My magic-black thunder-cat.




Photos by Sandra Peterson Ramirez.

Text by td Whittle.