////I wrote this poem on November 7th, 2005, the day after Pippin died////
Once I had a bit of joy; of that
peculiar sort quite often known as “cat”
with wide eyes like butterflies, and soft grey fur as well
as a tail like a sail, which dipped and puffed with every swell.
And oft at night, when I was lying in bed
I’d feel a small warm body softly tread
and into my ear she whispered purrings sweet
before going down to nestle by my feet.
It was bliss to see her romping in the sun
with Percival: a white cat and a small grey one
her tail held aloft as if with pride
with her ears pricked up; alert and wide-eyed.
But now the small soft body has gone cold
the graceful tail is limp, that once waved bold.
And the once beautiful butterfly-wing eyes
are closed, though it seemed their light could never fade and die.
////This verse was terrible and was made up at the last moment…I don’t even need it…////
Pippin,
Though we bestowed upon you a small and silly name
I think you ought to know that we still loved you the same.
To see that small body still, I thought my heart would go still too
for that kind of death was not right for one as young as you.
