My 14-year-old, outdoor kitty
white with black spots, golden eyes
My lil holstein kitty.
I never want to forget:
You wandered through our garden one day during a picnic;
I picked you up.
Up you went, on top of my head,
and I wanted you for mine.
You belonged to the neighbors
so back you went,
and this 8-year-old was spent.
Too many pets, so back you came, to my arms and to my heart.
I plopped you on the couch or I plopped you on my bed, hoping we never would part.
I told you about Jesus, hoping to save your soul, hoping you'd forever live.
Oh "Christian cat," the times I threw you in the blanket, I hope you did forgive.
The time you pooped in my beanbag chair, I wasn't even mad.
The time Dad kicked you for being on the counter really made me sad.
The times you hid behind the couch for you believed the vacuum to be bad...
Your gangly paws.
Your nonexistent meow.
Your grand "king of the jungle" stare.
For the time you comforted when Grandma passed away.
For the times you ran through blizzards, to my arms to stay.
For the times you were beside me, while sick, you would lay.
I am thankful.
Lying in the sun, sleeping on Dad's belly, attacking the tent, chasing the baton, letting me dress you in doll's clothing, putting up with the brother spinning you on the kitchen floor, being such a gentle spirit.
I am reminiscent.
You lost a lot of teeth.
Your brain went a little fuzzy.
Randomly skipping about, and licking at nothing.
We kept you in, we kept you close,
kept you safe and wiped your nose;
until time stood still and it was time to go.
And my fondness of you will never go.
Of all the farm cats that did come and go..
you were always my cat. Part of the family. The one that stayed, survived. Thrived.
Love ya. Miss ya.