Requies-Cat

O my cat, my cat is dead!
    My old blinded, sick cat,
Gone, with all her nine lives fled,
    Deader than a brick-a-bat!
    Sing for this cat
    “Requiescat,”
Sighing that herrace is sped.

Ere my one life had begun
    She had grown to cat-hood;
She could leap, & she could run
    Faster than a rat would,
        Woe for this cat,
        Now she is flat,
Flat & cold as any stone.

If her mind my Muse amused,
    Her mutations muteness
Moves to mutiny my abused
    Heart in grief’s acuteness.
        Touching this cat
        Requies-cat
Is all fate has not refused.

When I grew to play with her
    She was like a sister,
Sheathed her sharp claws & say “Purr!”
    Thankful when I kissed her.
        Yet would this cat
        Never miss rat,
Mole, or mouse, that dared to stir.

Round my neck she’d cling to sleep
    Like a child who knew me;
When I whistled she would leap,
    Wild with pleasure, to me;
        Sighs arise that
        Such a nice cat
Now in dust must slumber keep!

And when “fallen on evil days,
    Old & blind,” – like Milton,
With no eyes a rat to chase,
    No claws to have “kilt” one,
        My attentions
        Were as luncheons
Of sweet mice, to cheer her face.

Now her image sleeps with mine
    Cat-typed by “Dog-erre.”
Still to tell of auld lang syne
    All of sad or merry;
        Surely that soul
        Though some cat’s-hole
Finds a feline sanctuary!

Requiescat, Puss, in pace’,
    Rest in peace, – if Latin
Christened “dog” the reader may see
    Fit to address a cat in; 
        Requiescat
        Suits with this cat,
For its rhyme come very pat in.