Little Roger Is No More

Last week my cat died. He was an old boy, almost eighteen, and though he was with us only four years—he’d been brought from my elder sister’s menagerie—he had become our darling. A cat who liked to be held and who articulated himself in a range of cries and grumbles. My first and only pet. I wrote a poem for him.

~~~

little Roger is no more
he got smaller
—he couldn’t eat—
he disappeared
into my arms
now I take away
his box his bowls his blanket
remove his trays
hoover up his hair
but his voice remains
his domestic roar
little Roger is no more

~~~

Sleep well, Roger. You will be missed.