Too Sad to Write Today

Garrison Keilor says it all:

When we got home, it was almost dark.
Our neighbor waited on the walk.
“I’m sorry, I have bad news,” he said.
“Your cat, the grey-black one, is dead.
I found him by the garage an hour ago.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for letting us know.”



We dug a hole in the flower bed,
The lilac bushes overhead,
Where this cat loved to lie in spring
And roll in the dirt and eat the green
Delicious first spring buds,
And laid him down and covered him up,
Wrapped in a piece of tablecloth,
Our good old cat laid in the earth.

We quickly turned and went inside
The empty house and sat and cried
Softly in the dark some tears
For that familiar voice, that fur,
That soft weight missing from our laps,
That we had loved too well perhaps
And mourned from weakness of the heart;
A childish weakness, to regard
An animal whose life is brief
With such affection and such grief.
If this is foolish, so it be.
He was good company.
And we miss his gift
Of cat affection while he lived.
The sweet nature
Of that shy creature
Who gave the pleasure of himself:
The memory of our cat…

Prodigal
March 27, 1996-October 31, 2009