When the thunder rumbles
or the trash truck vibrates
or the celebratory fireworks erupt,
our cat hides in the tub…
between the plastic liner
and the shower curtain,
pressed up against the cold, sturdy side of the tub
sitting at attention
eyes pupil-black and wide-round like marbles
waiting
for the next explosion
the next detonation
the next reverberation
or
waiting
for the silence of safety
to coax him back
to avoiding the expensive cat bed
and burrowing in to couch cushions instead
waiting
for the peace to return
like the bulb of the daffodil waits for spring
patiently and anxiously
knowing the moment will come
when all is well again,
because the storm has truly passed
or the garbage men have left for good
or the celebration is finally complete…
how does he know
or the bulb of the daffodil learn
when the time has come…
maybe it’s not about knowing or learning
at all
maybe it’s just about an intuition that lingers internally
and pushes up the bulb
or lends trust to our cat…
perhaps I need to find some dirt to burrow under,
or the cold side of a bathtub where I can hide
allowing intuition some space
to grow and flourish inside…