We strode MacDougal St in ’62 past the coffee shop where Charlie Chaplin played all day, where everyone was cool and we were new.

Our black cat Adam rode my shoulder, his tail lashing ,his eyes glowing not knowing where we were going. You shared you were scared too. I clung to you.

For one night we afforded a room for two.

Tried to find a safe place for Adam, scouted basements, rats as huge as cats, the sacristy where a cassocked priest yelled “derelicts”and it got dark.

We panicked and dropped him at the Zoo.

I clung to you.

My dreams that night were of our seed that burgeoned in my womb and needed to be nourished.

Nausea claimed me everyday, with traces of blood in a scary way.

And that Adam be redeemed.

We scoured the park around the zoo. He never reappeared.

We grieved as children do.