Monday, March 27, 2006

Fritz: 2 Jan 1986 - 27 Mar 2006

I cannot sing for you, my cat:
my throat is poorly shaped for song
and words get stuck behind the plumb
that swings above my tongue. But then
your voice was rarely raised, my cat:
I thought you were a statue kept
beside the fridge, so scared to move
in case some two-leg freak returned
to bag you, bin you. Yet a cat
can overcome - you always sought
the sun to russet up your fur,
the warmth of quiet fuss: no need
to entertain your hosts, my cat,
by chasing ropes or catching birds;
just sit, and eat, and sometimes purr
when watching from the kitchen shelf.


  1. Rik, I'm sorry about your Fritz.

  2. I'm so sorry hun.

  3. Hey, Rik. My husband and I buried his cat of 17 years last year. Literally. We buried her in the garden in the middle of the night. It's hard.

  4. Julie, Eloise, Scavella - many thanks for your kind thoughts. I'll post some more on what we did with Fritz afterwards in the next day or so.

  5. Aw. I'm sorry to hear about your cat. Sounds like she was a great one, and an important companion.