Blaize Achew Panda-monium
Proud Murderer of Eight Lamps
Scores of Lackluster Lampshades
Numerous Feline Thrones (Secondhand Armchairs)
And Furocious Editor of Numerous Now Questionable Manuscripts
Our house seems empty now, and all your pride
Glides by in silence with each mournful gaze,
With drooping whiskers they all waste their days
And nights subdued because their lion has died.
They’re all so mournful and so dignified,
Your gentle hearted graceful furred gourmets
All wander off in a heart-broken haze
Bereft, for you no longer now preside.
You were a god to them, you were a lord,
You were their kitty king my little man !
You who would open all their treats for them
With each sweet claw more valiant than a sword.
You’d open everything except a can,
My self-reliant sweetheart ! You, my gem.
Now silently you come to me, my Mews,
With golden paw prints from the heart of God.
It feels so very lonesome and so odd
That you’re not here to meow the morning news.
You with your dear pink nose and valiant views
On life and love and lore of cooking cod,
And smashing lamps into the Land of Nod
Have vanished with your poignant baby blues.
There’s no one to bring ice for anymore,
For you would never lap your drink without
And no one flicks my pens across the floor
And leaps so free to swat things all about.
There’s no one to bring “owl” for to adore:
Whipped Reddi whip for you, without a doubt,
Licked just the Extra Creamy kind, my love !
You meowed for nothing else and licked your lips
And so I voyaged on unnumbered trips
Ensuring I could spoil you, little dove !
We move like ghosts while you glide by above,
The sweetest creature with your Meezer quips.
A tear, from time to time, we notice, drips
From these my eyes that have no knowledge of
The endless years. My darling little sage !
My editor, you ripped out every page !
Oh Heavens, Cat ! It couldn’t be that bad !
And now you’ve left us, and we’re still so sad.
You were a force of nature little king !
My lion, my love ! You were our everything !
A while back the Sublime Mews Himself Decided, being a Medium sized cat, and therefore a Medium, that his nine were up and it was time to take up his place in God’s garden of stars, watching over all of us from the heights and the mysteries of time. It’s been years now. We’re still bereft. As a purrsonality, he was larger than life. He was a Meezer Snowshoe mix, yet the most Meezer in purrsonality of them all. I still keep to his advice, using the Standard North American Feline Spelling and Purrnunciation, guided by my new large medium poet purrfessor Langston Mughes.
When he looked sternly at me, licked his lips, and meowed “owl” he meant he wanted his Extra Creamy Reddi-whip, which I, of course, served him on Limoges that we rescued from a thrift store.
In the photograph above, the little family group, self posed, of course, on the left is his little brother PUSSinsky, Nedzelnitsky BOOTSky, little Mr. Sneaker Socks himself, who’s still with me, there with the white on his face and his darling pink nose is the Sublime Mews Himself, The great tiger cat is Princess Tiger Beauty, their self appointed guardian, and on the far right is the late Missy Pong Ping of Seal Point.
© 2020 Anissa Nedzel Gage, All rights reserved