by Koos Vorster--(02/04/97)

On this day my friend went to heaven -
her entire life in years was only seven,
she was born a feral
one Siamese of several,
herself, she had more children than eleven.

She was only a few months old
when the left front paw went cold
as it was clamped
wrenched or stamped,
and from then under her did fold.

She gave us her most delightful child -
a real talker, with nature so mild -
she would greet
as she came to meet
us with bantering loud and wild.

She never had a name of her own,
always as Pietie's mom, she was known,
she was special none the less
for to us she was a bless
and now she's, gone we feel so alone.

She would see and hear my car come -
hobbling on three good legs and one numb,
touch my extended hand
as she braced on forefoot to stand,
to feel the stroke of my hand and thumb.

Life as a feral is o' so harsh and cruel
in dreams of mince or mutton to drool,
so daily I would feed
not relenting indeed
bringing food through weather hot and cool.

We both did know so very well
the day would come when she would tell
the fluid to introduce
and so induce
eternal sleep for her in heaven to dwell.