There is no death for the flying leaper,
Butterfly chaser, rainbowed, reaching,
The spotted twist, bone-white whiskers–
Late night flopper, flouncing close.
Green eyes golden in a cold kitchen.
Your purring pulse, brushing warmly past,
Chattering hellos. Tail like a marching baton–
So much joy! Forever curled in sunlight.
Chin up! I hear you now, padding down
The steps to the front door and out–out,
Where we all go to play, soft-eyed, so happy
To say, once again, “Oh! There you are!”