We would crunch up sheets of paper
Toss them across the room,
Purposely missing the garbage
It was then that the bell of his collar would ring,
The thump of the three working legs
On the thin green carpet
Through the hallway
Would sound
He hopped along and grasped that paper ball
With his small teeth
Running, fetching it back to the pitcher
Waiting for it to be thrown once and again
For he was a man of many talents

Every lover of a feline
knows the familiar warmth
their purrs can
bring to your heart
His was that of a
Young dove and
Blue crossed eyes
A crippled leg that would not bend
A gigantic white belly
And a heart-shaped spot on his side

Twelve years passed and he had gotten so thin
There was no longer the thumping
of those 3 working legs
For he was far too weak

Although we lost him in March,
When the scent of autumn fills the air,
This is when I miss him most
Because
I was seven that October
That October twenty-fourth when he arrived

Strange, how I can miss the silence of him never meowing
The way so many cats do

I fear that I'll never recover
From that crisp March morning
When my father woke me with the words
The cat is gone

Can't quite explain
the grievance two and a half years passed,
or the the attachment to this particular animal
But there it is
in the four of us, my parents
my brother and I

And it is my father
who swears the cat has a ghost
still with us
Hiding his toys for us
in pockets
in corners
under shelves
to find so that we'll
think of him

Needless,
For I think of him each day
His big crossed eyes in a beige frame
lit by a soft lamp
Accompany my pillow

One of his loose furs that
Before he was gone, would
get stuck to our black clothing
now scotch-taped to the dashboard
of my mother's Toyota
To remember
Our beloved
Siamese