Three weeks ago my youngest daughter’s cat died.
He was only 11 months old.
The most natural way for me to record the sorrowful passing of Leotard Chewbacca was in a poem:
A Song for Leo
He was tall
Very prim and proper,
All dressed in his pinstripe suit
Ready for his day.
All that was missing was the bowler
And furled umbrella.
The perfect City-cat.
He played ball
Fetched and dropped at Daughts’ feet.
Almost barking… expectant,
Eyes fixed on her face.
He tossed it in his water bowl,
Batted it with his paws.
The perfect cat-dog.
He waited
Patiently by the door.
She rushed, impatiently home.
They cooed and meowed,
He chased his tail, she laughed, he purred,
Then snuggled and slept.
The perfect companion.
He caught mice
At night, dropping the morsels
On her pillow to wake her,
Flexing his talons,
Padding and demanding his treat.
A just reward for
The perfect mouser.
He danced,
Weaving through her ankles
Or against her chest, his head
Upon her shoulder.
No longer a kitten he turned
Quiet and demure.
The perfect barn-mate.
He lost weight,
Grew picky with his food.
Meals and water left untouched,
Energy seeped out.
His eyes became expressionless,
His pinstripes unkempt,
Disheveled…dog tired.
He gave up,
And before Daughts knew it
Her prim and proper kitten
Laid against her breast
And crossed over the rainbow bridge.
He left a paw print
On her heart as goodbye.
She sees him
When she comes home at night.
Talks to him from her kitchen
As he rests ‘neath the
Beautiful, fragrant evergreen.
Bird song fills the air
For her sweet, brave Leo.
R.I.P. Leotard Chewbacca, the perfect little man.
No comments so far!
Leave a Comment