I have a little cat who’s blind from birth.
His name is Big (although he’s very small).
Sometimes he hears me, and he knows I’m there.
Sometimes he doesn’t know I’m there at all.
He seeks me in the air with nose and ears
But has no sight to tell him I’m close by.
I wonder if to him I’m like a god
Arriving as by magic from on high.
He talks to me in purrs; is he praying?
Sometimes I hear him crying out in fear
“Oh master why have you forsaken me?”
And when I say “I’m here,” I feel his joy.
He listens carefully to my command
“Dare not to steal that shrimp tail from my plate!”
Still a small paw streaks out, snatches it up
A simple creature’s original sin.
But when I trip over him, cause him pain
There’s no recrimination; I’m all good.
I give him little gifts, his cup is full
When I open the can he mews his thanks.
What thoughts must he ponder of my nature?
He loves me, he worships me. Doesn’t he?
He thinks – surely he must – “How great thou art.”
He would see my face if only he could.
But no, in truth I know it’s no such thing.
Man is the animal condemned to think.
Natalie Toulme, University of Georgia
Entry, Creative Corner