Here’s a poem I wrote about my cat when I was still in high school. The cat is long since deceased, but I still like the poem. It’s sappy. Here it is:
Before all the pain, I was a boy of six years,
nothing made me cry… save the barber’s shears.
One day, on a walk, we found a box by a door
fresh newborn kittens, abandoned, of which there were four.
Three were jet black, and lively at play
but the smallest sat trembling; she was white, and grey.
Ignored by her sisters, she stood alone,
So we found owners for the others, and took the smallest one home.
We took her to the vet, beaming with joy
I named her Smokey, thinking she was a boy.
The vet declared her a female, so lest we forget…
I changed her name… to Smokette.
There she sat shaking, in the palm of my hand
I whispered in her ear: “Your life shall be grand!”
She was timid at first, but this would soon fade,
pouncing and playing, no longer afraid.
She grew over the years, as I approached my dark days
hopeless, broken, living life in a haze.
Tears on my pillow, I fear the unknown
a cry shatters the silence: “Meow!” Translation: “You are not alone.”
When I’d cower in a corner, scared and afraid,
in that corner she’d join me; in that corner she stayed.
My loyal companion, my dearest friend,
selfless you are, with me 'til the end.
I don’t have any photos of her on hand at the moment. Nor do I usually enjoy sharing my feelings, but I loved that cat a great deal. The new cat in the family loves the outside and doesn’t sit with us like Smokette used to.