This cat couldn’t keep her canines

or drool inside her lips.

Big beads of cat spit

dripped from her whiskery muzzle

and hit warm on our skin,

her frail chest shuddering with purrs

of machine gun affection.

She was the one who clawed

half-live mice into the kitchen

and maimed the fledglings my mum had loved all of last spring.

Now she is buried beneath their nest

where squawcks of new born hunger

taunt the bugs from her bones

and terrorise her shoebox

coffin dreams of fleeing

tails, tickles to the chin

and sunlit windowsills in morning.



14 thoughts on “CAT OBITUARY

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