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Old Gold, A Cat

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An ancient scraggy yellow cat (nape infected with crusty mange) frequented our house, asking for food. He was not shy announcing his presence or asking to be fed alongside another guest we call No Neck -- the two were friendly, sharing twin feeding bowls amicably. Old Gold often bore the scars, the bloody fur, of a frequent skirmisher (and loser.) He was feeble, his sight not good, and his vocalizations in advising us of his presence were loudly unmelodious. He enjoyed a fond petting and was often seen padding cautiously about on nearby streets -- a free, though aged, spirit. It grieves me to report that, with good intent, we took Old Gold to treat his mange, but, after tests, were told he could not be treated. He had feline AIDS and leukemia. So, he needed to be put down. There are no cures or treatment. We miss his visits and his scratchy-screechy calling. His roaming done, he rests now, quietly, in our garden.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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Date: 5/4/2017 3:29:00 PM
A very sympathetic poem. I had to put my dog down some years ago for cancer. Very emotional for me. I waited another three years before I had to have another dog to fill the emptiness. Many thanks for reading my poem "Mistaken Identity." Best to you in your writing endeavors. / M
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