He was a good cat
Though unspeakably vile
To the not-us and un-we.
He was the third of his name
A tradition of my family
Now thirty six years in the making.
He was my sidekick
In my first months in America
My feline shadow in the Canton apartment.
He always smelled a bit like curry
A pleasant and exotic scent
As if he wasn't just a common tabby.
He loved my feet
Would sleep by and over them.
Say howdy with a nibble and a flop.
He loved straws
Would pull them from cups
Drag them up and down stairs.
He would say hello
With a nod and a short meow
As if copying the human gesture.
He liked being scooped
Picked up and cuddled
But only by us.
He would come when called
Chirping and curious
Wondering where the turkey was.
He played fetch
Would bring you something
And wait for you to throw it.
He was generous
Leaving loose change in my shoes
Turning every pair into penny loafers.
He missed us
Would be at the door when we got home
Endless nose-rubs after vacations.
We miss him
Eleven years old, almost exactly
A wedding gift to ourselves.
He was a good cat
A gift that never stopped giving
And never will.
Samuel Jay Herron
April 2000 - April 2011
He was a good cat