In the bookshelf, below the window and behind the spines,
above the heater, once winter’s arrived,
is the hotbox, where you’ll find Ninja,
Her Majesty, curled and asleep, or reclined
and in thought, four legs stretched
and pressed to the wall in this space that we keep
just for her, for Her Majesty, who likes it warm
when it’s cold, and cool when it’s hot,
her treats when she likes them, and in her favorite spot–
but not in the hotbox, that’s for resting alone
resting and thinking and warming old bones
Treats and odd snacks, she’ll communicate her wants,
and she’ll lead you to the most pleasing of spots
to enjoy them, and the service you provide
Then, come winter, come rain and come cold
Her Majesty will let us know it’s time,
time for the hotbox, for that space in the shelf
we create just for her, behind the books,
where winter is warm as summer for one square foot
*Yet another poem inspired by Her Majesty, Ninja, the fifteen-year-old tuxedo kitty for whom I provide service and comfort, a practice which, in part got me through and out of pandemic depression. She got me writing and she got me making my Little Free Chapbooks when I needed a project to focus on, and for that I am forever grateful.
Ninja came into my life shortly after I had lost two cats in quick succession. I wasn’t ready to adopt a cat, but I was ready for one to adopt me. Her Majesty was under the service and care of a certain witchy doula I have also written poems about, and who I began dating and ultimately cohabitating with. Ninja had come into her life via her brother in Vegas, where she showed up needing a home and a place to have a litter of kittens, and where she saw him, Jesse, as an easy mark. Jesse wasn’t in the same need of a position as head of service for a cat as my partner was, and so Ninja came to Seattle where I ultimately come into the picture.
In the meantime, and just under a year ago, Jesse, whom I had come to think of as a brother, as the brother I thought I’d never get to have, took his own life. In supporting my partner through the indescribable pain and grieving process, I’ve been grateful to have Her Majesty to serve, to distract, to laugh at, and to cuss out. I know Jesse enjoyed some of my Ninja poems, and had a copy of my first chapbook Ninja Will Eat Me in his room. I wish I could give him the second one.
I’ve put off my own grief over his loss, somewhat. As part of dealing with the grief, the two of us and another friend are participating in the Out of the Darkness Overnight Walk, an extraordinary fundraiser where participants from all over the country join together to walk 16-18 miles over the course of one night.
It’s a fundraiser to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. Net proceeds will help those affected by suicide and mental health conditions by supporting research, advocacy, survivor resources, education, and awareness programs. AFSP has set a bold goal to reduce the suicide rate 20% by the year 2025, and I’m proud to be part of that mission, and you can support me with a donation of any size here.
As a thank you for your donation, I’d like to send a copy of both of my Ninja-themed Little Free Chapbooks to you. Thank you for reading this long post that started out as a cat poem. Thank you for your support in a cause that matters to me.
Chris Bevens | pedalpoet 