The old cat,
once fussy and obstinate,
became meek and weak
in his last days —

but somehow, after a lifetime
of clumsy moth kills,
slew two mice in two weeks —
his first ever.

Laying him to rest,
sobbing as I think of
small bodies lying limp
between his paws

as he stared at me
with clear surprise
at what he’d managed
to do, with what looked like

pride mingled into his confusion —
I sob and smile at the lion
he at last conjured from inside
his once-fat, thinned-out frame. 

RIP, Icchus.  1998-2011.