What I Said to Mao

Mao was my first-ever cat. He was my "little lion," a fierce, solemn, majestic beast. He was about 9 years old when I got him, and we had 5 blessed years together.

Mao had just turned 14 when he lost a 6-week battle with lymphosarcoma (the same disease that Patrick had). I've tried to express my feelings about him in this poem.


What I Said to Mao
(beloved brown tabby,
1982 - 1996)

Mao,
I love your feet
because they bring you near,
dissolving our separateness
with each gentle tread.

I love your purr,
because it gurgles like a little spring,
bathing us both
in warm, drowsy waves.

I love your skin,
because it shelters your flesh and bone
and shapes your elegance.

I love your breath,
because it bears the subtlest trace
of your innermost fires
as it whispers against my hand.

I love your eyes,
because when I look into them
I see deep into the dark, rich night.


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