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Sunday, June 21, 2015

Missy Marie

I always had the sense that Missy was seeing things we
humans couldn't see and that she couldn't understand.


In 13 years you never hissed
or bared your teeth, peace kitty.
And only in your last
days did you cry in pain.

As a kitten you had large,
rabbit legs (one of which
was orange and apparently
stolen from another cat).

The laser pointer was okay,
but you obsessed over plastic,
Coke-bottle caps.  Hand targeted
head-butts continued until you

had gotten enough attention
or resorted to a loud,
endearing mew.  You interrupted
when I least wanted, but most needed,

to set aside what I was working on.
And it was the rare minute that
passed in 13 years without your purr,
sometimes audible across a room.

As patient as you were demanding,
I could hold you when I cried and
you insisted on sitting with/on me
when I wasn't feeling well, doctor kitty.

You snuck onto the deck
a few days before you died
even though you never liked
being outside.  What did you

think of the sunshine that day?
Of the birds at the feeder?
Life is brief, philosopher kitty.
Your "goodbye" to the world?