Tigger, 1987-2003

I lost my best four-legged friend two years ago today. Still miss him.


In Dreams He Purrs

Spring cleaning today
and I found a crumpled ball
of paper in the corner, nestled
under clumps of dust.
It held no message, just the echo
of a pounce.

In the kitchen we move freely,
no frantic beggar beneath our feet
though still I watch for mice
on the run from games
of four-footed field hockey.

I wear the necklace with the slim
silver chain, three links shorter
thanks to toothsome kitten frolics,
before exuberance was tempered by age and illness.

The bathroom sink holds only toothpaste stains,
no longer a place of cool repose
brimfull of soft tabby fur.

When I sleep, there is a ghostly
weight across my legs,
a comforting rumble in my ears.