MY GRANDMA’S OLD, ORANGE CAT
My grandma had an old, orange cat
Older than me when I knew him.
A stern companion,
Not always patient with little boys,
He bore his age
With as much dignity as an old cat can,
Though in his last summer
The flies bothered him.
In the end, he liked best
To stroll to the big dogwood tree
And settle under its low-hanging branches.
He would meditate there for hours
In the shade.
One day, when he did not come,
My grandma went to find him.
He was there in his place
More quiet now than any cat can be
Beyond taking notice of the flies.
© 2013 Gary A. Chorpenning; all rights reserved.
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