Stray Tiger Lou
The stray cat walks on three legs now.
(I swear he’d walk on two.)
I found out just the other night;
My neighbors call him Lou.
He’s weathered one more winter:
The fourth since I arrived.
The shape he’s always in by spring:
Lord . . how does he survive?
I leave a pan of dry food out
Each and every day.
Protected from the rain or snow,
In case Lou comes this way.
A little dog house waits nearby,
Next to the pan of food.
It’s padded well in wintertime,
In case Lou’s in the mood:
To trust me and to rest awhile,
In a place that’s dry and warm.
To stop his weary traveling round
And nevermore move on.
Except for this I do no more,
For Lou will not come near.
He’s feral now, afraid of me
And this won’t change, I fear.
In speaking with my neighbor though,
It seems there are a few --
Who also care about the likes
Of poor, old Tiger Lou.
His days are spent amongst us
And amongst us they will end.
But none can say, stray Tiger Lou,
Passed by without a friend.
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