Waiting for you to die so that I can get a cat
Sitting, I am graceful
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,
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
Angry that you still choose to fight.
You rasp for one last kiss
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
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
True there were many of them – tiny tiny things
All big bright eyes
Pouncing with vivacity
Prowling with ferocity
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.
Copyright © Rebecca Huxley | Year Posted 2017