Remembering  Scathach 2001-2016

​Scathach

​Little one, child of my waning years,
 
and my son's little sister.
 
Guardian of the loud war-cry.
​
 
 Fifteen years we have lived in the same apartment,
 
Breathing each others' breaths,
 
Sharing warmth at bed time and waking time.

Tomorrow I will let you go,
 
Needle into the vein.
 
 
Run, then, run like a kitten.
 
Run to Bast, to Bubastis, to the Mother Cat.
 
 
Snuggle into her soft, warm belly.
 
Suckle from her full tits.
 
 
Be swift again,
 
Be glad again.
 
Be as you were when I first brought you home.
 
 
Very small and delicate,
 
Cold and seeking warmth.
 
 
It will be so strange
 
Not to hear you lapping water,
 
 
Not feel your right paw,
 
Reaching out onto my chest,
 
Not to feel or hear your purr.
 
 
The place will be so empty,
 
 
And in my memory of your decline,
 
The coldness of my own aging
 
Haunts me already.
 
 
Peace to me,
 
And peace to you,
 
And peace to those who were happy for me,
 
That I had you in my life.
 
 
Run past and forget about
 
The claw removal,
 
The fear and pain,
 
And how you fought so hard
 
You broke a stitch,
 
And were put back into the cage for another day.
 
 
It all was to keep you with me and alive.
 
Already I sniffle.
 
Tomorrow maybe I'll scream.