I remember your soft fur and quiet presence.
​If you came back I would feed you canned food — salmon, I think,
with nutritional yeast sprinkled on top.
You could sharpen your claws, plucking and scratching on the wooden bed frame 
whenever you want.
And I would gently adorn you 
with necklaces, little cowboy hats, and eyeglasses while you slept.
Thank you for guarding and defending our territory from racoons on the roof
and chasing the intruding neighborhood cats from our yard.
You were brave and strong even though you were tiny and old.
You deserved the sardines, all the sardines.
I wish I could sit next to you, and draw 
while you napped in a puddle of sunlight, 
curled like a comma on the living room floor.
On warmer days, we lay outside basking in the sun.
Greeting my return, I see you perched at the window longing for that freedom.
delightful, waiting patiently.