23 lipca 2002

felines in the fast lane - a tribute

This is for Sonya, who had a scary experience - and for Ernie, who reminded me.

I wrote this in sixth grade, while incredibly constipated. I knew I was going to be on the toilet for awhile, and I was bored, so I decided to write a poem.

Eulogy

The car was red.
The cat was dead.
It had blood streaming out its head.
Our family cried
because he died
but even though we tried and tried
we could not wake our sleeping pet
and so we took him to the vet.
He said it would be a better story
if we could find a crematory,
so we took an old tin pail we found
rolling around about the ground
and in we placed our sleeping cat.
We lit a match
and that was that.
We didn’t expect the end so near -
we thought at least another year
so we were semi-unprepared.
But what the heck.
At least we cared.

Posted by freesia at 14:23

The red car must be deeply symbolic of your relationship with the cat, right?

tony @ 02:30 PM | 2002/07/23

[02:29 PM] virelai: constipation!
[02:29 PM] virelai: the mother of inspiration!
[02:30 PM] virelai: create on paper you won’t use.
[02:30 PM] virelai: flatulation! exertation!
[02:30 PM] scylla: machinations!
[02:30 PM] scylla: gastrointestinal difficultations!
[02:30 PM] virelai: constipated inner muse.

yukino @ 02:31 PM | 2002/07/23

That would’ve been quite pretty poetry if I hadn’t butted in.

freesia @ 02:33 PM | 2002/07/23

I love it! Particularly that you wrote it on the toilet. Very satisfying.

sjet @ 02:40 PM | 2002/07/23