Mourning Sammy (my cat)
This is as close as I can come to writing poetry, having no real sense of rhythm and rhyme, but if there are no objections, I might contribute original stuff like this every once in a while.
An amusing, if aggravating, thought:
If I had a sort of bird's eye/God's eye view, I could look down and spot Sammy, perhaps just a few blocks from me, wandering dazedly and lost, and I could go and pick him up and take him back home with me,
but I don't have that view, and it's like a needle in a haystack, and there's no hope of finding it, though I can feel the prick and sting of it.
Of course, this assumes Sammy is only lost, that it's not worse, that he hasn't been mangled by a dog or by sadistic boys.
If it's worse, one can only hope it was a quick death, much quicker than what Willy suffered.
I shouldn't muse so much like this, like a little boy whose pet is the biggest most special thing in the world, but such is the emptiness of my life that my pets are my greatest loves.
Well, at least I mused as much over losing Mother, and I had a lot more mixed feelings about her, heh.