An old cat is like a small storm,
creaking, scratching,
leaving detritus in its wake,
its svelte prowl
has become a stumbling lurch.
It twitches in sleep,
dreaming of the climb.
Its purr is now mixed
with yawns and groans.
Its plaintive cries
fall on its own deaf ears..
Its eyes, once magical,
now hold a mist.
And the worst part of an old cat
is knowing how you’ll miss it
when it’s gone.