An iron cage her final stay, a lamp
to keep her warm and not a friendly lap,
emaciated body, ruffled, damp,
inertly dozing in a sickly nap –
square yard of cage too large for her that once
would roam so far it took her half a week,
aggressive if she didn’t get the chance,
now lying dazed, unnaturally meek.
The final scrap of hope gone up in smoke
the lamp’s switched off, and though she doesn’t stir
the image in the cage appears to blur.
The vet prepares a syringe. As I stroke
the wasted body in its greyish fur
she looks my way and softly starts to purr.
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