Into my later life, when purpose failed,
When much was lost, and few were there to heed,
Undaunted feline stray, affectionate, he came.
These fourteen years, our paths have intermatched,
Our instincts blend, each knows the other’s need.

But now our lifespans close, one must be first to end;
If it were his, my gentle, loyal friend,
Lacking his loving touch, his modest wants,
His undemanding chores, my days were sad indeed,
Bereft this echoing house, homecomings desolate.

But he, if he were left, transferred to strangers’ hands,
Familiar routine gone, his eating place, his dish,
His preference for kidneys, dislike of fowl or fish.
How would he cope, forced to adapt too late,
Bewildered and alone, what then would be his fate?

O, Bast, compassionate, great goddess of all cats,
Let him go first, and I will bear the rest.

Winifred A Thorn