Aug 10, 2008 14:00
Sherman my fine 21 year old cat died last night and my sister and her husband Rod are stars (but you knew that right?) I rang up at stupid o'clock last night and howled down the phone and they came over and helped me bury him in a fine spot under the willow tree: (
Goodnight Sherman, I was with you when you were born and you died with me holding you, i will miss you more than words can say : (
You could tell me that this silence
will long rub against my legs,
that the sound of the tin opener
will long summon his shadow
to the kitchen...
you could tell me that every cat I see
and some that I don't,
will scratch and mew at the door
of your memory...
But please don't mention these things,
because the claws of grief are sharp.
Just say instead that my cat
is curled up somewhere in his sun spot
waiting to hear me come home,
at which time he will put on
his old aristocratic act of indifference
to let me know that I did, after all,
take longer than the expected time...
But soon, in his arrogant but casual way
he will edge nearer, forgiving
my human ineptness,
allowing me to finally hold him
and scratch behind his ears
while he is purring purring purring
to welcome me.