It was on the last day of the year
That our old cat chose to disappear,
After fifteen years that decrepit old feline
Had used up more lives than her allotted nine.
No more will we see of her,
No longer hear that resounding purr,
Never again will I seek out my comfy chair
Only to discover silly old Lily ensconced there.
Lately we’ve had to be both swift and vigilant;
She seemed to not care where she ‘went,’
She has gone, off to make her Maker,
Will He turn His nose up or take her?
Well, that old cat has proved me wrong,
She’s come back, like a bad pong,
Seven days away and I walk through the gate
And there’s the cat I’d thought was late.
I thought I’d seen a tortoiseshell ghost,
My trembling hand clutched the gatepost,
But then jubilation replaced the fear-
She was thin, hungry, but here.
Some say she’d simply beaten long odds,
I think its a canny and clever act of Gods;
He WILL make room for our incontinent old pet
But He’ll let her piss us around for a bit yet.
Third And Final Act For The Cat.
‘Twas late Winter and mighty cold
When at 10pm our cat, mighty old,
Informed us loudly she wanted out of here-
Best let her out, lest she dampen the atmosphere.
She plodded into a night so chill and black
I thought after a few minutes she’d be back,
But when I switched on our blazing security light
Of our old familiar cat there neither sign nor sight.
But we’d been caught out by her before,
Two or three days, she may be back at our door;
We’ll give it a week, and if then we’ve not seen her
‘Twill be with heavy heart I’ll put away the wet-vac cleaner.