the disappearance of the ginger tabby and the unraveling of mrs. macdonald
by Jordan Trethewey
I
Sometime after her hard military man died,
the old widow next door began to lure
neighbourhood pets to her unused red barn.
We were elementary school boys,
rural woodland ramblers in haphazard forts,
stick swashbucklers fabricating mysteries.
Summer always arrived with construction—
Parents building houses for expanding broods.
A time when small things, like cats, get overlooked.
Into a perfect storm of diverted attention,
wanders a lonely lady with a fetish for felines,
and in desperate need of a pastime.
II
Bobby the ginger tabby,
lone survivor of three cats for three boys,
knew how to hunt and explore.
King of culverts and backyard corridors,
but no cat is made of stone
when confronted with a cunning trail of treats
winding its way across property lines
to end at a padlocked chicken wire door.
Not in his DNA to turn down a free meal.
Presented with a play structure like no other,
gourmet and free range menu options,
freedom and human companion become afterthoughts.
III
Home construction neared completion.
Winter came, we called,
Here kitty kitty kitty!
Here kitty kitty kitty!
But Bobby never came.
We wailed and wondered for a time.
Asked the widowed neighbour—
whom Mother chauffeured,
whose lawn we mowed,
and driveway we shovelled
in years to come—
if she’d seen our cat.
The repeat reply always,
No dear, I’m sorry,
despite a barn full of strays.
Believed in Bobby as a predator
who’d find somewhere warm
between mouse meals.
IV
Years passed.
We believed in him, out there.
Somewhere. Must be.
Books about boys solving low-key crimes
became research, the characters companions
for a middle school kid who lost his.
Then a glimpse of ginger in the murk,
through the chicken wire door. A moment,
recognition from reflective eyes within.
Maybe I knew about Bobby's entrapment
all along, stood frozen between respect-
your-elders and youthful courage.
Mrs. MacDonald’s guilt confirmed
when a neighbourhood friend revealed
an identical story except for the ending.
She rescued her cat, took it home.
Bolstered by the power of her plot,
I waited for my opportunity—
for the catnapper to forget, leave
her barn-sized cage unlocked—
for my indecision to thaw into a jailbreak.
Photo of Jordan Trethewey
BIO: Jordan Trethewey lives in Fredericton, NB, Canada, with his wife, son, and daughter. He is the writer-in-residence at the Fredericton Region Museum, and a past City of Fredericton Poet Laureate (2021-2024).
Jordan’s writing appears in many journals, such as Maclean’s, Arc Poetry Magazine, and Spillwords; on the right shoulder blade of a fan, and was included in a failed mission to rest in a time capsule on the moon. He is a member of the League of Canadian Poets, and an editor at Open Arts Forum. Some of his work is also translated in Vietnamese, Farsi, and French.
Jordan’s latest book, “These Are the People in Your Neighbourhood” (2023), is the fulfillment of his legacy project as poet laureate. His books “Spirits for Sale” (2019), and “Unexpected Mergers” (2021) are collaborations with Dutch artist Marcel Herms. His poetry collections, “Peculiar Portraits,” and “SyncWord,” are forthcoming from Anxiety Press, and Gridlock Lit, respectively.