Parts of Me

Cat

She sits there

with her yellow eyes

Watching me:

I am not surprised;

There’s little else she does

these days

than stretch out in the sun

and laze.

Once

when I was

so much smaller

than I am today.

She was young,

and lithe and spirited:

She could run

and jump from drawers

But not so much

anymore.

I remember when

she could

jump onto anything and

she would

walk across the top

of bookcases

And over the keyboard,

of all places.

Many words

describe her now:

gaunt, and hollowed-out

not unlike

Halloween pumpkins:

out comes the squishy stuff within

and you’re left with

a shell.

Mind you, there’s still life

in the skinny bones of

hers;

I’ve seen her stalking

through green-grass

Her eyes glint like

a tiger’s:

searching for her prey.

Then I must have

unintentionally moved

or perhaps a wind ruffled

her fur.

For she picks herself up

looking slightly embarrassed

at the primitive instincts

in her.

Silly old cat

looking at me

with sleep in her eyes

and Old in her bones.

Sleeping at the end of the bed

she’s realised

she is now simply

old.