"A Kapparah" by Dana Robbins

A Kapparah

My mother said cats were a waste
of a woman’s maternal energy. Not
that I would trade my children for
a cat, but who cannot love a purring

ball on a cold winter night, or the way
our cat, Bingley, wedges himself so
tightly into the valley of bedding
between Steve and me,

and how could the day begin without
a furry menace perched near my coffee,
plotting to steal my bacon, or at least
knock over my water?

My mother didn’t waste tears on dead
cats, the limp fur cradled at the vet for
that final moment. She said, in Yiddish,
“a kapparah,” better the cat than a person.

When Topanga, a stunning Maine coon, 
passed, tears streamed down my face as I
thanked her for her affection, which helped
me through lonely years after my divorce;

how she used to sit on the arm of the sofa
and reach down to gently knead my neck. 
Is there a hierarchy of grief? A cat is not
a person, a parent, or a sister, but a cat can

be a good friend. We all mourn as we must,
whether we cry for a parent who died
decades ago, or howl for our sweet cat who
slept warm in our bed for so many nights.  

DANA ROBBINS

Dana Robbins obtained an MFA from the Stonecoast Writers Program of the University of Southern Maine after a long career as a lawyer. Her books of poetry, The Left Side of My Life, After the Parade, and Frida’s Boots, were published by Moon Pie Press of Westbrook, Maine, in 2015, 2020, and 2022 respectively. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in many journals and anthologies, including DASH Literary Journal, Euphony Journal, Flights, California Quarterly, Calyx, Mount Hope Magazine, The Phoenix, Perceptions, Pennsylvania English, Poetica Magazine, Moth Magazine, Poydras Review, Saint Ann’s Review, SLAB, Steam Ticket, Visitant, and Zone 3.

Headshot: Stephen Gleit

Photo Credit: Staff