Kismet

By Clara Blair

Glistening black fur, round yellow eyes,
Imperious demeanor, discerning taste.
Regal and strong, this was the kitten
Whose gums and tongue were white,
Dangerously anemic from the fleas
That feasted on her tiny body.
Barely six weeks old, taken too soon
From her mother, her eyes still kitten-blue,
She shivered on the table while our vet warned us
She probably wouldn't live. But we would not give up.
We had rescued and named her - Kismet.
We had held her, she was real to us.
We would fight for her and save her.
The doctor disposed of the remaining fleas,
Gave us a diet supplement and his best wishes
But not much hope, and we took her home.
Home, where she still reigns ten years later,
Princess of all she surveys. Kismet, named for fate,
Though black, has found her fate as golden as her eyes.

© 2002 Clara Blair