I was cleaning out papers today and came across something folded up in my appointment book. I wrote it for my Cubby, who passed away in May at the age of 10. Writing it made me feel better at the time, maybe it will give someone else some peace. It's just exactly how it came out, might be better if it was cleaned up, but it is what it is.
Don't despair, dear friend,
It's not your fault.
I was simply never meant to be
an old cat.
Whether by accident
or disease,
those jumbled letters
starting with F.
Age will not
cloud my eyes,
the years will not
weaken my bones.
The path I started down
was always shorter,
borrowed time from
the beginning.
Then you stepped in
and told the inevitable,
not today,
he's mine.
Thank you for the gift,
the time
I was never supposed
to have.
Because, you see,
I was never meant
to be
an old cat.
Don't despair, dear friend,
It's not your fault.
I was simply never meant to be
an old cat.
Whether by accident
or disease,
those jumbled letters
starting with F.
Age will not
cloud my eyes,
the years will not
weaken my bones.
The path I started down
was always shorter,
borrowed time from
the beginning.
Then you stepped in
and told the inevitable,
not today,
he's mine.
Thank you for the gift,
the time
I was never supposed
to have.
Because, you see,
I was never meant
to be
an old cat.
