Oh Kitteh, My Kitteh

What a terrible horrible day yesterday. One of my Hoomins got bad news; the Covid19 virus has struck another Domestic Short Hair, a Female Tuxedo named Sybil (I'm told because of some old movie and her Tuxitude). Of course, I agreed to share said Hoomin Poet's Rhyming Ramblings on my blog. Anything I can do for a fellow Word Lover, even the Hoomin variety. 

Closeup of a tuxedo cat on a bed.

                                O Kitteh, My Kitteh!

O Kitteh! my Kitteh! your fearsome life is done,
You've weather’d every hairball, the chipmunks stalked are gone,
Nirvana nears, but in their homes, the neighbors are exulting,
Among them you will not be missed, your moods were quite revolting;
                         But O heart! O Kitteh heart!
                            O bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on the bed my Kitteh lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Kitteh! my Kitteh! Rise up, attack once more!
Rise up, rise up—for you the catnip's scattered,
Sushi and liver bits await, and furry blankets plenty!
O beast divine, for you I'll pine, my only friend in Quarantine;
                         Here Kitteh! Here Kitteh!
                            O This paw beneath your head!
                               It is some dream that on the bed,
                                 I've found you cold and dead.

My Kitteh does not growl or hiss, her nose is dry and chill,
My Kitteh does not feel my pats, and has no will to kill,
Her rabbit scratching is now done, my scars will start to heal,
Her greedy maw has closed for good, no birdies more will fall;
                         Exult O birds, and sing your trills!
                             O Kitteh! What shall I do?  The vet's in Quarantine.                                
                                    So I'll just leave you on the bed,
                                     Fallen, cold, and dead.



n/a

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