Shadow, you *******; bead box upended, a galaxy of beads beckon feline eye; you’d choke in your bliss for cheap plastic pieces. Your toys remain unchewed, dusty; my pens remain missing, useless. Four a.m. is for sleeping, not eating; I slam the door, no longer listening; your crying piercing my brain, deep as the bead nestled in your throat; They’re never the same again once the damage sets in; the special diet, medication tucked in cheese; hairballs requiring the kittie-Heimlich, like squeezing a black, furry accordion; and then it is I who cries for forgiveness.