April 10th begins
the moment the sun gives up.
Not sunset,
no, that’s too polite.
This is a surrender,
a quiet folding of light
as the neighbourhood prepares
for its true rulers
to wake.
Because on the 10th,
every cat in the neighbourhood
remembers its lineage.
They rise from porches,
from cardboard boxes,
from warm engines,
from the soft laps of old women
who pretend not to know
they are hosting royalty.
And then
they run.
Not chaotically,
not playfully,
but with the precise choreography
of a ritual older than the moon.
They run the perimeter
of every house,
every garden,
every forgotten corner
where human memory
has grown thin.
Their paws make no sound,
but their silence
is a kind of screaming
a high, invisible frequency
that shakes the dust
off the bones of the night.
It is the scream of instinct,
of inheritance,
of the wildness
that refuses to die
even after centuries
of canned food
and velvet cushions.
Their eyes ignite
two stars per cat,
hundreds of constellations
scattered across the dark.
They blink,
and galaxies rearrange themselves.
They stare,
and the night remembers
its original shape.
Humans watch from windows,
pretending they are not afraid,
pretending they understand,
pretending they are not witnessing
a ceremony
they were never invited to.
Because on April 10th,
the cats are not pets.
They are not companions.
They are not cute.
They are emissaries
of the first darkness,
the one that existed
before time learned to walk.
They run their circuits
until the night is fully claimed,
until every shadow
has been inspected,
until every secret
has been acknowledged
by a whisker’s touch.
And when they finally stop,
when the last constellation
settles on a rooftop
and curls its tail
around the chimney,
the world exhales.
A soft, trembling breath
that says:
We are safe for one more night.
Because the cats have run,
and the night has listened,
and the stars in their eyes
have kept the darkness
from swallowing us whole.
Par that opening is so cool. The moment the sun gives up..wish I thought of that. like the poem.
Thanks, appreciate you!
Wicked ass cats! Stay away. Humans don’t have 9 lives like they do. Cats are spooky and mysterious. This piece is well thought out and fun to read. Great poem my friend
Big hug to you, Keith.
Beautifully penned, PAR. Into the book it belongs! Another excellent write with magnificent storytelling my friend. This is an amazing read and I really love how you nailed the personality of our feline counterparts. Awesome series brother. Appreciate you.
Damian
This April sequence is meking me very happy indeed. Appreciate you, brother.