he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
        terrorized
        a white cross-eyed tailless cat
        I took him in and fed him and he stayed
        grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
        and ran him over
        I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
        chance...give him these pills...his backbone
        is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
        mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
        these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
        are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody
        cut it off..."

        I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
        hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
        floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he
        wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
        and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-
        where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
        him and gently touched him and he looked back at
        me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
        by he made his first move
        dragging himself forward by his front legs
        (the rear ones wouldn't work)
        he made it to the litter box
        crawled over and in,
        it was like the trumpet of possible victory
        blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
        related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that
        bad but bad enough

        one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
        just looked at me.

        "you can make it," I said to him.

        he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
        he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
        rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,
        then got up.

        you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed
        almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
        his eyes never left...

        and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about
        life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
        shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look
        at this!"

        but they don't understand, they say something like,"you
        say you've been influenced by Celine?"

        "no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
        things like this, by this, by this!"

        I shake the cat, hold him up in
        the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows...

        it's then that the interviews end
        although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
        later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
        graphed together.

        he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps.

This is perfect... again, if you don't understand it upon first reading it...