Syringes and Vials

I have syringes and vials on every surface
from the kitchen to the floor to the table to the bed.
All sorts of potions, remedies, supplements and liquids
to keep my cats alive.

In our constant movings, they've all contracted
bugs, viruses and ailments. One had her teeth broken
the other had his teeth pulled, one has immune
deficiency, the other a mystery.

and I keep on mixing up medicines in all variations
to keep their systems going because the vets
the clueless ones in white coats never can
diagnose but can dispense with antibiotics

and read out blood sample numbers and sometimes
sew a limb together. My inheritance is gone to them.
The money to get free is now out of my hands and here I
sit watching one writhing in pain stupified in between

while I ply him with arnica, vitamin c and lactoferrin
and light candles my constant vigil and pray and sigh.
My warrior brave one, the tree cat, my indigo prince
lies like a rag, the heat, the pain, a mixture for devils

not princes, not the courageous lovers of life that danced
with this pathetic one while moon rain sprinkled down on
us in gleams of bliss. Happy he was and I to always greet him.

My hands now shoving another dropper full of hope
to keep the dream alive - to strengthen - to recover.
I breathe, he heaves, entwined the knot we share
a life and all the goodness it once contained.