Old Tomcat
Ray, 1983 - 2001
How many years have you seen, old Tom?
Your teeth are gone, your eyes are glazed.
Where are the dogs that chased your youth?
Those pups you whipped in your later days?

It's hard to believe, as I look at you now --
So thin, so weak and dirty --
That once you owned ten blocks of town,
Or was it more like thirty?

Your silver coat, once shiny and sleek,
Is thin and full of mats.
And as you labor just to breathe,
It seems that each will be your last.

As I stroke your battered head,
I think I hear a whispered purr
Of mice and birds and butterflies
That float along on shrouded mists
Of once-upon-a-time gone by.

And as those days replay again,
A worn-out muscle twitches once
For all the times it joined the fun
Of climb and fight and chase and run.

As I listen to your failing heart,
I hear the plaintiff muffled sobs
Of the little girl just half your age
Who calls you hers.

Blinded by the faith and hope
That I could buy reprise of time,
She brought you in.
But as the tears stream down her face
And splash silently on the floor below --
You're gone.

-- M.J. Shively, DVM