Mr. Norris and the Civet Cat

We four boys liked to fish
and sometimes after chores
we’d jump on our horses and ride
four miles to the river where
if we let him know old Mr. Norris
would unlock the gate to the
stretch of water beyond Norris’s
siding. We were predator-triggered
in those days because of Mother’s
chickens, baby ducks and all
young things a farm shelters.
So when we saw this tiny civet cat,
wet, muddy, mewing like a kitten,
our impulse was to stamp out its
life. We circled it cautiously
because civet cats and skunks are
born ready to shoot. But Mr. Norris
picked it up and stowed it inside his
shirt, mud, wet and all. Poor thing,
he said, even wild mothers sometimes
abandon children, it ain’t always humans.
We tried to cover bloodthirsty
thoughts with a show of concern.
What will you do with it? we asked.
He said, warm it, dry it, feed it,
let it suck cloth soaked in milk
for its mother’s tit. Turn it loose
when it’s old enough. All babies have
a right to live. We’re here to protect them.