She used to purr when she leaped onto the bed;
I prefer to think of her arrivals.
I could read her expressions through the fur:
glad to see me (and usually was):
relaxed eyelids, fur sleek off the face;
impatient with my stupidity:
staring at me, legs rigidly apart, lips wide;
angry that I forgot she was outside:
plenty of carping criticism at me as she walks by;
Time for sleep:
lots of purring, rolled over against me.

She says none of that now,
takes her well-earned rest
in that little grave near the cottage
on the island where she found us:
lost, so many years ago.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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