It just wouldn’t die…

That cat of mine.

I was 9.  Friskie was tiny.

Running down the middle of the road,

in the rain,

as my mom came home from work.

She stopped and picked him up

and brought him home for me.

We moved.  He moved with us.

And other cats moved into his place,

when he roamed too far and couldn’t find his way back.

And like those cats,

we roam far,

in our minds,

away from our minds,

away from our bodies.

So that others have to make the decision

of where

to finish up and say that

long goodbye.

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Published in: on August 24, 2010 at 12:52 am  Comments (4)  
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4 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Thank you for stopping by my blog today. I look forward to coming by again to read what you have written.
    blessings
    ~a

  2. oh, sad but beautiful.

    • Thanks, it’s been hard to make decisions about mom.


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