C.R. Mooney

Here’s a little ditty I wrote yesterday. I hope it makes you think.

I’m At Your Door

I’m exhausted and I don’t have a place to call my own. Home is anywhere I can sleep without being run out or chased away. My last warm meal was a week ago. I was downtown and a couple came out of a restaurant laughing, until the woman saw me. Our eyes didn’t meet at first ‘cause I was focused on the doggie bag in her hand. She pulled her companion over and gave me what was left of their dinner.

I don’t like people’s pity, but I hadn’t eaten in a couple days.

And now here I am, on your porch. It’s a desperate move I know, but that’s what I am: Desperate.

You hear me outside your door.

Footsteps. I hope you don’t yell at me like that last guy.

The door opens and you can see the pain and sorrow in my eyes. You tell me to hold on a minute and close the door. I know it’s too much to ask to come in. On returning, you give me a bowl of something that tastes like heaven, and a blanket which I will take out of sight and sleep with.

I leave the blanket and bowl for a moment before passing out for the night and walk up to the door. I give it a scratch, then a polite “meow.” It’s the only thanks I can give, though I’m sure you didn’t hear it.

****

I’m exhausted and I don’t have a place to call my own. Home is anywhere I can sleep without being run out or chased away. My last warm meal was a week ago. I was downtown and a couple came out of a restaurant laughing, until the woman saw me. Our eyes didn’t meet at first ‘cause I was focused on the doggie bag in her hand. She pulled her companion over and gave me what was left of their dinner.

I don’t like people’s pity, but I hadn’t eaten in a couple days.

And now here I am, on your porch. It’s a desperate move I know, but that’s what I am: Desperate.

You hear me outside your door.

Footsteps. I hope you don’t yell at me like that last guy.

The door opens and you can see the pain and sorrow in my eyes.

“Get out of here before I call the cops. Bum!”

“I-I-I just wanted something to eat,” I plea. But I hear you yelling at your kids to go into the other room.

Maybe the next guy will understand. Maybe he will have compassion.

On my way off your porch I see cat sleeping under a bush on a blanket, and an empty bowl at the bottom of the steps.

“Sleep well little buddy,” I say, but he doesn’t wake.