DUSTY

Our Old Grey Cat

Dusty, the cat, lives in our house, dying;

Unfortunately, no one hears crying.

For years we thought he was she, but who cares?

In this new age, gender is bendable;

I could be “they”; they is right proud to say!

But living, as I do, under the stairs,

I would prefer peaceful coexistence.

Dusty, the cat, eats only canned tuna;

Sleeps most of the day on the firm’s loveseat.

He eats very little, drinks hardly a drop,

Dusty, the dying cat, won’t take a treat;

Lives for his tuna, not steak tartare, though

Ignoring our dogs who eat his food dry, so

Walks past them unhurried, thin as that rail—

Old Dusty, our grey cat, beyond the pale.

[Coda

As are we all.

Going, going, gone.

Dusty, our grey cat!

Old and beyond.]

Dusty, Dusty, our old grey cat (photo by Mary). Still with us!

Dusty in Dreamland, asleep on the sofa.