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R.A. Stewart
September 28th, 2017, 01:49 PM
Paddler's Tig Reports put me in mind of a poem I wrote many years ago for a friend whose cat had died. (And now it has been four years or more since my friend followed him. So fast everything passes away.)


Old Cats When They Die


Old cats getting ready to die
set their claws in hard, pull against
what they want to happen, because they’ve always fought.
Tough old cats at their dying
bare their stained teeth and hiss
and maybe the dark angel stays its hand,
but only for a moment.
Battered fierce cats at the end
take the still gift, they do,
but take it hard.