To my dearly departed cat Mariah

 

 

I still expect to see you
when I unlock and open
my door, and so I do see you
drifting around the corner
of the brown couch,
a black shadow
leading me to where your
supper bowls used to be, 
and then disappearing, my dear
swift-as-the-wind Mariah.
 
I talk to you, words lost in emptiness. 
 
I watch TV news without
your purring companionship
under my left hand. 
You used to sleep all day
except for this shared time,
and then slept beside me in bed. 
Your sweet warmth is gone.
The plants miss you, too,
you, your teeth, and your
company on the window sill.
 
Visit as often as you like.
You’ll always be welcome here.

For Mary's prompt "Lonely" at What's Going On? 

An earlier draft is below, and comments are at the end.  

[Don't feel you have to read the earlier draft. It's for me to come back to.]

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

[The First version: About my last cat Mariah
 
I come into my apartment expecting
to see the swift-as-the-wind black cat
Mariah, who died 2 weeks ago of cancer.
That’s not right.  She died by humane euthanasia.
 
Because she had cancer, I paid a Lap of Love vet
to come to the apartment and administer
two drugs—one for buffering pain, one to stop her heart.
 
Three friends did a small ritual before she died. 
We held hands and talked grief and good memories,
and sang:
Mariah comes from the goddess and to her she shall return
. . . . I let go in love so you can cross the rainbow bridge . . .
Kathleen’s poem reminds me of the blessings
of light, darkness, the void, and death. 
 
I come into my home expecting to see
my swift-as-the-wind black cat called Mariah
And I do see her drift around the corner
of the couch.  A trick of the light?  imagination? 
 
I feel the wide-open emptiness of the cat-less space.
I talk to her, but sit on the couch without
her purring companionship under my left hand,
and watch TV news alone.  I can hardly focus
on the reports, so shaken am I by her absence.
I see her again out of the corner of my eye.
She’s asking for treats, she’s leading me
To her matching supper dishes that I sold
at this week’s art sale.  I didn’t cry at her funeral
but I find myself crying now when I call her
to lie down with me when I’m ready for bed
but she doesn’t come.  She flits in and out
of the rooms I walk through, trying to be
there when she cannot return to this life.
Her presence touches deep into my grief
and it draws my tears.  It is a precious gift,
her drawn out farewell. She knows I miss her,
She heard the ritual with her song, and she heard
The words of “The necessary fecund dark”
And she knows I know why she didn’t eat
For 10 days, how she was preparing to go.]

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast