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A Book Review

Lyn Lifshin needs no introduction in the world of poetry. A small press legend, Lifshin's poems have graced over a thousand literary journals, magazines, anthologies, and broadsides. She has written more than one hundred books and edited four anthologies. For more information about Lyn Lifshin I suggest you visit her extensive web site (www.lynlifshin.com), which is packed with news, interviews, book reviews, photos, and a list of available books.

When a Cat Dies is a collection of 84 poems culled from hundreds written by Lifshin when Memento, her cat of over 20 years, died several years ago. The titles of the poems are chronological, beginning with the first day after Memento's death and continuing for several weeks. The title of the collection is taken from the first poem in the book.

What happens when a very old cat dies? The owner is left alone with years of memories and a giant hole in her heart. As Lifshin explains: "When a cat dies / you are as quiet as she / was until something like / a wail--"my little baby" / --I moan at the kitchen / table its been years since / she could jump to." Later she states her intent with these poems: "I want to write a / cat death poem that / is poignant and / playful, touching, / but not so serious / and sad the reader / will giggle or sneer." In another she says: "I can mourn / you, remember when / I first held you, dream / you thru nights / where you're missing. / But that's really a / lie. I need more, to / be able to put your name / in a poem and not / apologize for staying / in a week, unable to / see anybody and then / finally on the first day I / join the living, have / someone say at my dark / sadness,-- well we all / have days like that."

On the first day without your beloved cat the shock is new and raw. You feel displaced, as though sadness is a dark ocean sure to overwhelm you, capable of washing away your last breath as well. Lifshin tells us: "When I got her, I had / just started ballet, just / met the man who held / her last night as we / held my mother on her / last night, my cat only / 8 then, still leaping / for mice. My hair was / red then, thicker. What / mattered, still seemed / ahead." And in another poem: "This morning every / place she was stings. / The mourning doves / moan in the grass." Those who have experienced this kind of grief try to help, but nothing really prepares you for the emotional trauma: "The vet says / you will think of her / everywhere in the house / and when you think you / won't, something will / sneak up, tear a hole." Or: "There / are only certain / people you can show / wild grief to when a / pet dies.-- I don't go to / ballet this week.-- I / could be sitting Shiva."

In the days that follow, the memories of our old cats' last illnesses float above us like tattered sheets, but what we remember most are the good times, and always the love. Lifshin translates this beautifully: "When / a cat dies, the cups / she broke re-glue / themselves, her / dishes, even the / litter box, her / favorite cat food / still in the closet / stun. If she scratched / the rug, it sews / itself back up." Bundled in grief, she recalls words of advice she received years ago when her mother died: "Hospice / says first you remember the dead / in their sickness, in their dying / then you remember them young / and gorgeous. So I will dream / later of her leaping dare devil to / the highest shelves and diving into / boxes of Christmas paper, a toy / mouse in her mouth she must have / still hoped to replace with a real one." And the good memories lead to more: "I think of all the photographs / in a box upstate: Memento as a / kitten. Enormous ears, jade / eyes."

For many poets, our cats are our children, and this is certainly the case with Lyn Lifshin. Even cat-mothers develop an intuitive sense about their cat-children: "Two weeks ago the / cat sitter thought she looked great. / A week before that, her tests were / normal. But all week something / seemed strange. I fed her turkey / under the quilt, combed and / combed. She was, they said later, / in human age 120 years. Cats / hide their sickness so predators / can't tell. According to the Iroquois / another friend says, pets do not / leave their owners after death, / but stay with whoever treated them / best and take care of them in return." And in another poem: "Kim says many / people who love / their cats don't / like babies much. / That's me I think / remembering / how at six I / wanted a cat / and one came on / my birthday with / many more inside / her. At eleven I / knew I never wanted / children."

As with any death, the pain dulls in time, and you learn to befriend the hole puncturing your heart, which aches now in shades of bittersweet. Lifshin captures this sentiment in one short poem written 18 days after the death of Memento: "dark dreams, / a rose and flame / sun slides / into grey. / Rain predicted. / The driest / winter in years. / Daffodils bloom / early, tulips / almost and the / buds. But no / fur flower."

Anyone who has loved a cat, nursed it through the geriatric years, and endured the grieving process after the cat's death will treasure this special collection of poems. Lifshin has captured every emotion, from the raw shock of the first moment to the various stages of sorrow, grief, and emotional healing. Highly recommended.