Ollie pauses in grooming, half his tongue exposed.
It’s like a small pink biscuit,
or a holy wafer slipped into his mouth
He’s the epitome of domesticity,
of cleanliness, orderliness, and … ritual.
Yes, ritual as in choosing a pet
from an overfull cage, in readying the Snuggle,
in buying plastic bowls for food and water.
It’s a given, really. No need to say welcome.
In preparation I ditched the crochet cushions,
put away the ornaments,
brought out the oldest blankets,
all this in service to hope.
Yes, everything looks better now.
For the first time ever, I offer him milk.
He laps it up. There can be no going back.