Chapter 29

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Even though I'm a dignifiedphilosopher, they cram meinto a plastic boxwith a crosshatched metallic doorlike a prisonersent to detentionto consider their crimes

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Even though I'm a dignified
philosopher, they cram me
into a plastic box
with a crosshatched metallic door
like a prisoner
sent to detention
to consider their crimes.
Rehabilitation is beyond
those who need it,
and cats are shoved
into carriers, where
we meow for help.

The car drive
always makes me queasy.
I can't imagine
how Lahea Ikaika
traveled twice by ferry
and once by plane
to make it to the Mainland.

The longest journey
I ever dared—as a cat,
anyway; in my Greek life,
I traveled the Silk Road—
but in this body,
my greatest adventure
was up the spine
of California,
where Hooman #1,
Da Loker, and Phoebe
rode in the backseat with me
from the apartment
near Disneyland fireworks
to the old, wood-floor
downtown studio
Hooman #1 rented
while she went to college.

In the Fresno downtown,
Hooman #1 found Buttercup,
and the rivalry
between her and Phoebe
has raged ever since.

A year later,
Hooman #1 found DeeJAY
in a different parking lot
at the local college.

Now the car hits a pothole
that jostles my carrier
and I close my eyes
to take in a breath.

Lately I've seen
dancing lights
on the back of my eyelids
as my energy becomes
too much
to continue
in this small temple
of a feline body.

When I lift
my second eyelids
like a gauze,
I see the widening glow
of a different side
of space-time than the one
I currently occupy.

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