Not that fond of your feline kind,
you, I loved.
No laser tag nor chasing vagrant feathers
on a stringed stick for you.
No, you were a serious cat,
a watcher and a holy one.
You waited for hours for rodents
to exterminate and make our world safe.
Sinner that I am,
I adored you for this tyranny.
As a kitten, you took on a snake.
As adult, you outwit a coyote
that killed your brother,
then hid out, lost, in the woods
until, found and wooed into my arms
with canned tuna,
you prodigally returned home
where you purrrred in Papa’s lap
and watched over his daily work
with blinking sphinx-like approval.
Now the dark wood of disease
has stalked you with twitching hindquarters,
waiting for you to succumb to its tyranny.
We took you in just shy of Holy Week
like a lamb to the slaughter of mercy
baptized with tears of thanksgiving,
while you purred with anxiety
over yet another medical procedure
only to find, in the end, a home
with better cushions by the fire in winter,
plumper sofa tops by brighter windows in spring,
and yummier food you rushed ahead of us
to devour in the basement
leading out into the great rodent beyond.