Sylvester

Sylvester, Sylve, Sylvie, Fink, Finkle Foo.

You answered to them all; came running

like the gazelle you were not and could never be!

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Sylvester a friend to everyone and

everyone's friend.

Just an old baggy rag bag of bones.

A common old black and white rescue centre cat.

But you had the biggest heart overflowing

with love for everyone you met along your way.

When we brought you home - our first feline friend,

you peered about through pea-green eyes gently

padding upon velveteen paws into the kitchen,

then swiftly leaping like a coal black panther to

the very top of the kitchen cupboard.

And this immediately became your safe place.

Your lair where you lurked like the Cheshire cat

from Alice's Wonderland and where

you put yourself to bed each night.

You breakfasted with an elderly neighbour

and strolled along our road to meet and greet 

the children on their way home from school. 

But you were always there to bounce down the stairs 

and welcome me home when I turned the brass key in

the big old wooden front door.

And then you got ill!

Began to howl like a banshee, fell down the stairs.

The vet said you were very old , that it was 'your time!'

So our daughter wrapped you warmly in a fluffy towel

and walked you around your garden - your happy space -

to say your goodbyes to the flowers and trees

to the birds and the bees.

We buried you at the bottom of your garden

where the sunbeams linger longest surrounded

by freshly picked buttercups, dandelions and 

fallen pale lemon rose petals.

You looked so beautiful,

just like Ophelia in Millais's famous painting

hung in the Tate gallery.

Oh Sylvester I am so proud to have known you; 

to have been a tiny part of your charmed life

but I will always treasure our times spent together.

Go well, my beloved little black and white cat.