Thunderpuss, In Memoriam

I've been 31 years without my Siamese cat companion, Thunderpuss. I have, over the years, adopted two semi-feral cats, they were never really cat-companions, just guests who were happier outdoors than in. Long-time friends of The Poet's Press knew her well, and her paw-prints are on a number of our books. This is my farewell.

THUNDERPUSS: IN MEMORIAM

by Brett Rutherford

1
At the end
you are lilac —

sun filters
through holes
in the carrying case —
frail lilac
tinged on white

your fur
a rumpled coat
no longer sleek
on skeleton

legs too weak 
for running now,
your leaps
misguided
end in confusion

yet you are lilac still
eyes blue
as Siamese skies.

You come out of the box
all kitten,
ready to explore, 
eager to know,

yet terrified,
into the hands
of the doctor

2
Print shop cat
tracked through open ink cans
to autograph
the works of poets
with indelible paw prints.

Always underfoot
intractably neurotic
from the start

an all-night howler
in heat more than out

toms on the roof
   at the cat-door window

toms taking turns
working in shifts

not even bothering
to fight
for your inexhaustible
yearning

steel spring queen
of a city of orgies. 

3
Your leaps
were prodigious —

from floor to door-top

straight up curtains
bookshelves like ladders

nothing would daunt
your interest in ceilings,
high places,
hunter's eye view.

Even the ledge
between two office windows
too narrow for turning
did not defeat you —

you simply walked backwards,
regained the sill,
jumped to the floor
like a film in reverse.

4
From hellcat
you grew civilized,

calmed to the sound
of Handel and Mozart,
sat rapt at the foot
of my harpsichord,

tempered the leaps, 
the claws-out landings.

A gentle reminder
from a water pistol
cured you of scratching
the furniture.

You grew to dignity
yet never shed the pride
of an aristocrat.

No one could pick you up
yet you would deign
to throne a lap
with your presence,

accept a suitable interval
of petting,

the obsequies
that mortals owe
to incarnate beauty.

5
Dreaming
     you were more real
than waking

dreaming
     you could escape
     the dull perimeter
     of print shop
     of studio apartment
     of four rooms in New Jersey 

to pad a crystal jungle
     stalk forest floors
     cross deserts
     converse with demons

bask in a sun that never sets

await the arrival 
of your leopard king
whose sleek black fur
and amber eyes
are your eidolon
of Beauty.

I watched you dreaming:
the twitch of eye,
the paw extended,
the clench and unclench
of your jaws

tried to imagine the place
that lured you,
its feline geometry
one leap beyond
my human faculty.

I'd wake sometimes
to find you sitting there
upon my chest
eyes huge as moons

staring    staring —

perhaps you too 
brooded
on sleep and death,

waited for my
awakening
and asked yourself

Where does he go?

6
Only a grudging carnivore,
you were happy
with that bloodless stew,

those maddeningly crunchy
stars and tidbits,

those tins of neatly
chopped and compressed tuna.

Once, growling with
animal rage, you came back
with a mouse in your jaws; 

once, the house was filled
with sparrow feathers;

now and then, you'd catch
and swallow something
with too many legs

run for the water bowl
to wash it down. 

But near the end
you sat on sun-porch
surrounded by finches
and feeding sparrows

no glint of killing
in your blue eyes
calm as a storybook saint
preaching to wildlife

pensive as a Buddha
counting the sunfalls
toward Nirvana

7
We became one person,
shards of the same crystal,

mirrors
of one another's moods

you were always there
     protesting my absence
     before the key
          could readmit me

you at the end
     of every journey

running to rustle
     of grocery bag

someone to shop for
     catnip at Christmas 
     a rabbit-fur mouse
     a length of twine
     a boneless breast
          of special chicken

8
A burglar came
through the downstairs window.
I frightened him off —

black leopard man
with amber eyes
leaped from the porch
over the fence
gone like a nightmare.

I wanted Death
to stalk you silently,
visit your sleep
like that intruder

surprise you gently,
take you from me
like a thief.

But when I find
that you can barely walk,
that you will not eat,
see you convulsed with seizure, 
I must become
the agent of Death,
must temper him
with kindness. 

I did not want
to choose the time
of your going.
Making the appointment
I gasped to spell
my name to the clinic,

shaking with grief
and more than grief.

It was not done in a daze.
The sun was brilliant.
Cats watched from every window
as I walked with blue box
toward the clinic.

It was the third of September.
Summer had died in the trees
the night before, blinked out
like Merope, the lost Pleiad.
Stars burned invisible
over the daytime sky.

I talked nonsense
to your moaning
     jabbered about 
     going for a walk
     calm down
     we're
     almost
     there 

9
Your absence
is palpable

like nerves
to an amputated limb

I still feel you
about to step
around the corner
of the sofa

hear you leap
from stovetop
to chair
to floor

the silken rustle
on carpet
claw clatter
on floorboards.

But these presentiments
are false now:

you are dust mote
rising to icy air,
a final leap
into unbeing,

you are ashes,
gray with a hint of lilac. 

SUBJECTS: Siamese cat, cat memorial, Thunderpuss, Providence.