Day 440

He awakened to cats
licking his face, nuzzling his hands.
Like him, they were hungry, weary.
Like him, they were afraid.
He who had so little food
had been feeding them for weeks.
Like him, they had no home anymore,
no warm place to sleep, no comfort.
He’d sat on slabs of fallen concrete,
tearing off bits of bread, tossing them
to the cats; they’d learned what time
he’d be there, came every day
at that time.  But now 
he lay on the ground, not moving,
blood running out of one leg, 
staining the dust.  Eyes closed.
The cats stayed by him.  One of them
licked the blood, tried to clean
his wound.  Another licked his eyelids
until he opened his eyes
and saw them, his hungry cats,
his friends.  He touched one of them
with his hand; the soft fur
stirred him, he tried to sit up,
fell back, then was able to sit again.
His leg hurt, but he could move it.
The cats settled around him, made
their soft sounds, lay down.  The man
stood.  His leg was bleeding
a little less.  He looked at the cats.
He thanked them, he thanked them
aloud. They began to walk with him
down the road, toward the hospital.