“geriatric cat”

Old Marmalade naps on the sun-baked sill,  
Her whiskers curled in silver loops of time.  
Each purr a memory; each yawn, a hill  
Climbed softly, in a fur-lined pantomime.  

Her eyes, ovals glazed with wise, golden light,  
Survey the kingdom: carpets, chairs, a friend  
Nodding beside her, seasons in delight—  
The shifting sun her faithful, warming bend.  

She dreams of lithe pursuits ‘round autumn leaves,  
Of daring leaps and tails held proud and high,  
But now, her dance is slower; yet, she weaves  
A gentle pattern as the days glide by.  

Her mews are creaky music, low and sweet,  
Requesting extra laps, a softer paw.  
Old queen of quiet corners, she’ll repeat  
Her ritual of love, by tooth and claw.  

For here, in the hush of familiar walls,  
A geriatric cat reigns, wise and warm,  
And teaches hearts each time the twilight falls,  
There’s beauty in a purr that’s lived the storm.

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