dead right gift

Heidi gave my cat back --- Les Li Panache A good cat no denying his charm or wit prone to being prone to be sure and at 20 years he died literally a shell a charm intact in his demands a large male bicolor panda cat continental markings australia across his back africa on his side an island here and there Upon the block placed by a subterranean trail patient seated watching his ground with ears and whiskers forward intensity lost in the grass then the wag thrust hook a mole is fished placed and shaken but not stirred Eating is the gig the thrust of lifted nose and curled paw leading the shoulder’s rub the thumping roll to the kitchen floor an arching claw and climb to challenge to run to return always to the bowl master of masters He took on the big dog stiff in swagger to rip flesh with the best  right drawing no blood his exit no respect but proud none the less as when he fought the real toms with sweet determination and watched the possum eat his food or carried the leopard frog calling or the nipped sock or mouse lion roaring best of all that determination and mastery of his precious nature... the gentle going into biting love cementing those bonds of inscrutable vision and the required demonstration of floppy grace and slinky respect oh for a world shared with a damned good cat I miss you, Panache. --- but he was light grey ashes few mere splinters of his frame i kept some of his dust exclaimed she so be it plain and simple so be it lovely gifts for me and they were ones to ponder the ashes of our dead cat split and what to do with them not whole like his home that never was but in hearts stilled in its hole like that gnawing mole croaking along its root bound line to feed a rats must of bare sustenance stealing love from the rich and giving it back like the cat like a thief laughing in his talent in his place and hers deep in where these precious gifts arise like sweet sisters with warm homes and children to tickle and charm eyes to dancing cool through the dust chipping the floor with that loving thrum you feel but cannot move as you step lightly dipping your baton as if you charmed the worldcan the ramble of life be forgiven can a cats soul live in a tin can a mans heart then to be given to these strangers like a friend Written December 26th, 2001 © on Dec 26 2001 01:31 AM PST, Frederic Jacob Gutknecht IV   10 • 0