She was very old, our old dame,

Our cat, 17, Meiko was her name.

On Friday she was not herself at all.

She lay, her face turned to the wall

Silent and subdued

Saturday, she did not touch her food.

On Sunday she paced back and forth

Across the bedroom floor

And did not brush our leg or purr

Or make a sound. We petted her

And she seemed very far away.

We knelt by the bed where she lay

And felt desolate and sad

And told her, Good cat, good cat

And then this delicate creature

Of an affectionate nature

Had to be carried outside

And taken for a short melancholy ride

To the vet's office where with gentle affection

She was given the merciful injection

As we stroked her and said,

"Good cat. Good cat." And she lay down her head

On our lap

And took her nap.

We miss her gentleness and grace,

The little eyes, the solemn face,

The tail flicking where she lay

In a square of sun on a summer day.

It's childish, to feel such grief

For an animal whose life is brief.

And if it is foolish, so it be.

She was good company,

And we miss that gift

Of cat affection while she lived.

Her sweet civility.

A cat has not much utility

But beauty is beauty: that's

Why the Lord created cats.

We miss our cat of 17 years

And if you'll sit down by my side

I'll scratch you up behind your ears

Until you are well satisfied

And then bring you a plate of fish

And figs and dates fresh off the tree

Or any treat that you may wish,

In our old cat's sweet memory.

Lullaby little cat, wherever you're at

May you lie in the sun and be loved by someone

May you curl up and rest, with a quilt for a nest

May you run, may you leap, and be young in your sleep.