I took you to the vet again this morning,
This time for a wound I made myself,
Clumsily trying to trim your matted fur.
As usual you were patient beyond belief,
Purring softly as the doctor probed your sore,
Tested your temperature and weighed you
(Seven pounds four ounces . . . less than last time).
Seventeen years you’ve lived with us,
Starting as a lively acrobat
Who conned us to adopting you one Spring
By constantly climbing on our window screen
And staring us into sympathy with your plight
(Hungry and cold and homeless as you were).
And though you have occasionally seemed
To regret your giving freedom up for comfort,
You never have been hungry, cold or homeless
Since that day.
I can’t remember when we didn’t know you,
But now I face the inevitable end
When we’ll no longer have you with us,
Begging kitchen scraps
And tripping us in the hallway late at night
(Where you’re waiting for your breakfast to arrive,
As it always does).
And I know that even when you’re gone,
For years I’ll always look behind me
Before stepping back,
Thinking deep down in my memory
That you’ll still be there, waiting, purring,
Trusting that there’s tuna to be shared.