Stygian. Stagnant. Solitary.

Middle Child Syndrome

In a small two-story house

Resides a family of four

That owns three black cats.

There is the eldest,

Named Joe

Skinny, sleek, and fast.

Then there's the middle,

Called John

Rugged, feisty, and tall.

And finally the kitten

Dubbed Callie

Who watches them both brawl.

Their hearts were stolen

By Joe first

When he sat beside their door.

They fed him

And built him a hut.

He'd be the only one, they swore.

But then John came by

And looked through

The back door's screen.

They ignored him

But then saw his eyes

And gave in to the green.

They thought that two

Would be all that they'd have

Until Callie sat on their chair.

Small and fuzzy,

She was hard to resist

Under all of the fluffy hair.

Focused on praising

The eldest of cats

And too busy doting the third

John had become

The least favorite kitten

And was abandoned by the herd.

When John and Joe

Would brawl too much,

It was the former shooed away

And while he ran

Through the opened door

The others continued to stay.

I witnessed this

And found me

Uncovering a metaphor.

I saw myself

Within that cat

On the opposite side of the door.

This family adored me too

Until the eldest friend talked

She was their daughter, of course

She said I was irresponsible

But the youngest friend was not

And to show her some remorse.

Youngest friend could stay

But as for me, however,

I was nothing but an outcast

Much the same fate

Found poor little John,

and I sympathized with the cat.

I took the ball of fur

Into my skinny arms

And cradled him against my chest

I held him there

Soft, warm and safe

And told him he was the best.

His small mouth opened

And let out

The softest mew.

"I know, I know,"

I whispered to him.

"We share a folie a deux."