Cats Don’t Have Wings

I got lost in a Walmart and ended up in a UPS store.

At least I think it was UPS.

All around was the smell of unopened packages

and undelivered mail.

An abandoned UPS, then. Isn’t it funny how unsent mail

can have a smell.

It smells like disappointment which smells like spoiling

food which smells

like something I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed

to send through UPS.

Abandoned UPS stores sound like meowing boxes,

but when I opened

the one meowing the loudest, I didn’t find the little

calico I expected, but one

of those little toys shaped just like an egg with cat

ears and painted eyes

and whiskers, the kind that meows if you nudge

them enough

to make them rock on their little round egg-cat butts.

I took the little plastic

cat with me during my expedition for the door leading back

to Walmart, stepping over

and weaving between other boxes, meowing, the cat

cradled in my palms

like it was a real bird, indifferent. I found only a cap

with “MAIL ME” emblazoned

across the top. I’ll settle for this, I told the cat.

One hand held the cat

in the bowl of my fingers while the other began

sorting boxes.

I watched the tiny wings flap as the cat rocked

and meowed. It said to me,

“this is where you belong,” unhappy by my movement

as I bent, and lifted.

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