Thomas

[drummondo]

Thomas

 

We took our cat to the vet today

To die.

"He's old," we said, "He's had a good run."

We waited, quietly,

With the occasional comment

On the cuteness of a cat,

Kitten, puppy or fluffy ball.

such a long wait, long enough

To inspire mother to enquire as to

Our whereabouts in the scattered queue.

Eventually, the vet opened a door,

And called not our name, but our cat's.

We were but escorts for this old soul.

As we filed in to the sterile room,

I noticed that the vet's nametag

Was blank. I thought it quite fitting.

Death has no name.

 

We began with his age.

"Seventeen."

Apparently it was old for a cat,

But it wasn't the oldest she'd seen.

Like it was a competition.

(There's a feline corpse lying somewhere

With a rosette and a certificate, should it care).

Our cat strolled arrogantly from its basket

And paraded itself around the table before

Its back legs gave way.

He tried once more,

Rearing up against the wall,

And surveying the garden through the window,

A lion from a sterile rock;

Once more his legs gave way.

"It's like he's drunk," I commented,

To which death laughed and agreed.

I don't think I broke a smile.

 

We were left to discuss our options;

To take him, living, and hope,

Or to leave him, dead, and to simply remember.

I decided that we could not handle

Finding him lifeless in our own home,

And preparations were made to take his life.

it was at this point that my sister cried,

And mother's voice shook slightly.

I've always prided myself on being emotionally unaffected.

The cat just looked the same.

 

She took him out for anaesthetic,

And brought him back, stuporous,

So we could spend some time with him.

Time spent as he fell asleep.

After two minutes, I don't think he knew we were there.

Mother was under the mistaken impression

That he'd been given the fatal injection,

And it was at this point she cried.

My sister wondered why his legs twitched,

And I explained that his muscles were relaxing,

But he was still trying to move.

I don't know if I was scientifically correct,

But it seemed, right there, to be so cruel,

To take his life while he helplessly fought

The effects of anaesthesia.

He lay, one hind leg stuck straight in the air,

But with eyes wide open. Lion eyes. Faded.

 

Once asleep, his front right leg was shaved,

To make way for the injection.

My sister asked if it was too late to go back.

I explained that technically, it wasn't,

But that there was a reason it had come this far.

Death readied its needle and administered its dose.

Mother cried. Sister cried. I watched, curious.

The cat did not move.

The vet confirmed the stilling of its heart,

But the cat was still visibly breathing.

"They do that sometimes," she explained.

"He's still fighting," I said, under steady breath.

They left us with his body for a couple more minutes.

How nice of them.

 

I suggested we leave.

Mother asked me to pick up the basket,

And something struck me.

The basket was empty. It would be empty

All the way home. Our cat was dead.

I hesitated, before straightening my face,

Gritting my teeth and carrying the empty basket

Through to the reception.

Here, I watched mother pay death for her services,

And exited the building a few minutes before

The others, to stand alone,

And shed a tear.

[Beautiful Nightmare]

Aww babe!

 

You know my thought on this! Its straight from the heart like all your poems!

 

*CUDDLES*

 

Im here for you always

 

xxxxx

[Wyvern]

A powerful poem, drummondo. I think that the imagery of the cat dying and the veterinarian's procedure were particularly effective in driving across the emotions of the piece, as they really drew me into the experience of the poem and made me sympathize with the narrator. The comparison of the cat to a lion also struck me as very appropriate, as there seems to be an intriguing struggle for pride going on in the cat's death. The details of the poem were also very evocative, and the discomfort in the reactions of the mother and sister really enforced the tone of the piece.

 

In terms of potential improvements to the piece, the comparison of the veterinarian to Death struck me as more vague than the cat-lion comparison, and I didn't think that the references to Death in the piece were evocative. You might consider dropping that aspect of the poem, or perhaps replacing it with another comparison that the reader can visualize better. Also, I thought some of the narrator's interjections in the poem, such as "I've always prided myself on being emotionally unaffected" (l. 44) and "How nice of them" (l. 76) felt a little out of place, as they seemed more focussed on portraying the narrator than they did on conveying the themes of the poem. On a minor note, there were also one or two points where words might be condensed more, like in line 53 where the phrase "And it was at this point" doesn't seem to add anything.

 

Once again, great poem drummondo. :-) It can be difficult to convey strong emotions on the death of a pet in poetry, and I feel that you did an excellent job with it here.