My Old Cat

A moving elegy by British poet and civil servant Hal Summers. One of my favourites.

My old cat is dead,
Who would butt me with his head.
He had the sleekest fur.
He had the blackest purr.
Always gentle with us
Was this black puss,
But when I found him to-day
Stiff and cold where he lay
His look was a lion’s,
Full of rage, defiance:
Oh, he would not pretend
That what came was a friend
But met it in pure hate.
Well died, my old cat.

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