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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Sitting, I am graceful Still, And ever paceful. I am waiting. Waiting for you to die. I let loose a slow soft purr -I am content at the thought - As I sit and stare, At your body ageing, And failing No longer intimately engaging. Even your once silvery-white shine Has diminished to a dull grey. Young and lean your were the night owl Lurching, taut and on the prowl, Lean: you sported no spare ounce, You pull but I pounce. Don't you know that cats eat birds, oh fair owl? I look upon you now Frail and infirm An owl with broken wings that still insists on trying to fly I'm still waiting Still waiting for you to die. I swish from left to right Impatient. Angry that you still choose to fight. You rasp for one last kiss I paw Trying to catch this final fleeting moment The sound of our saliva – a discordant hiss Your lips become still Your hands limp And just like that you pass. In death you are serene Framed within your silvery-white hair Long-since-lost longing re-emerges As I look upon your face so fair In shame I hold my breath and weep as I feel a sense of freedom upon your death. Now our home is different Your painful moaning replaced by playful purring, The cloying sense of death In the air Replaced by the feel of Soft soft fur. His 'meow' wakes me The sight of my tom-cat Teddy Takes me. True there were many of them – tiny tiny things All big bright eyes Pouncing with vivacity Unbridled Prowling with ferocity Unbound But the failing, wobbly tomcat Making the hissing sound Inexplicably took my breath away. I stroke his frail neck, A barely audible purr responds, He struggles to my lap He no longer wants to play. I stroke his once silvery-white fur Now diminished to a dull grey. Rebecca.A.Huxley
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