The Night Before

My boy, you have become so small,

curled here, asleep against my leg.

My ancient boy, over 90 in human years,

your time has come. Tomorrow,

to save you pain and long decline,

I will take you to the vet, and she

will inject you with your final sleep,

your death. She has worked so hard,

this vet, to get you to like her. Last time

we went in, she could stroke you;

you even purred (you who were once

all claw and fang and fierce hissing

for any vet). Nice timing – now 

you need not fight your death, but meet it

peacefully. My hands, too, will be on you

so that you feel my love to the end –

my hands, that even now caress

your sleek black fur. You wake 

and give a happy little murmur

at my touch, then shift position. Hard 

to find comfort, these last weeks.

But now you sleep, almost as deeply

as you will tomorrow night and afterwards

forever, all your nine lives used.

I'm glad you won't be dragging your bones

off to some secret resting place I'd never find, 

like other cats I've loved. I'm glad

of all the years you've spent with me.

One day is left to us, and then –

go sweetly, dear old friend! 

6 August 2015

Shared at dVerse Open Link Night #153