For years I’ve told you, you are such my boy,
while your head pushes under my chin, rumbling,
or when my fingers comb through your silky coat.
You used to be a 22-pound purring beast.
Now, when I rub my cheek against your softness,
your bony spine pokes me into never
wanting to weigh you again.
I don’t want to know what’s left of you.
I want alchemy to work you back to monster cat regality.
I want to feel your bulk against me,
heavy and secure.
Yet you keep shrinking before my eyes.
Your lungs to fill with fluid
congesting breath and sneezing snot.
Purring your love into my cheek,
your spirit wants to live, Sisu.
But how many days,
how many weeks,
how do I know when it’s time?
Please die quietly at home.
Let me wake and find you,
so crocuses can bloom through your ashes next year
and I don’t have to choose an end for you.
Your company brings me comfort.
Oh, how I will miss you
such my boy.
Brenda Warren 2013
This piece is my Day 9 piece for April written in response to a Trifecta Challenge that you can access if you click the Tricycle. It is the first poem that I wept through as I wrote it. Sisu is a Maine Coon. His mother Annie lives with us, too. Annie is still a monster cat, but she is not as big as her boy once was. This picture was taken last September. Sisu had already begun to shed pounds by then.