DIE VERWANDLUNG

Your species is described as selfish—
I have no right to comment on this.
But I remember you, small black creature,
eyeing cautiously the hand I offered
before allowing me to scratch
the underside of your chin.
You retreated soon, as if
you dared not ask for more.

"She's a shy old cat," the volunteer said,
as you curled up into yourself,
"but she won't eat without someone
to watch her."
I wanted to watch you.

Now the volunteer looked
                   at me.
"You really suit each other,"
she said. I thought so too.
(I was fifteen then, timid
but with such a desire
to be seen).
We still had another shelter to visit
But I remembered you well.

The cats at the next shelter
were younger. This one (a feline adolescent)
had perhaps a year. A friendly gray fellow,
who soon climbed into my lap
and pressed his head against me
to ask attention.

I liked him. I wanted
to go back home, and consider
which to adopt. My mother
was quite set on him.
Wouldn't I want a younger cat?
she said. (She did not say
that she did not want
a trembling old thing).

I brought him home.
I loved him. I hoped
for many more years with him.
A young cat—he should live
a while.

He died
      three years later.

Still, I remember you well.
I hope someone kind took you home—
someone suited to you
as I was at fifteen.

I am twenty-two now. And still
I understand you so well.
I am still cautious.
And I still want
to be seen.

I wonder, when I am old and trembling,
will there be anyone to watch me
while I eat?
But I (selfish creature)
write this
        and retreat.
I dare not ask for more.