Ode to Pooter

Meow, Meowdity, Meow was the subtle sound she made,
Chasing bugs in the weeds was the favorite game she played.
A bundle of joy, soft and ebony in tone,
A part of the family, even one of our own.
It happened so quickly on a warm summer day,
She was running and skipping in a well mannered way.
It came without warning, it came without sound,
It rushed with great speed even down to the ground.
What is such a creature that would disrupt her play?
A ruthless black falcon, a fiery bird of prey.
It’s razor sharp talons like vise grips they were,
Locked in tight and pierced through the fur.
Up, up and away was the flight of the cat,
The bird victorious in it’s quest for some edible fat.
Her fate was determined, her limp body lay,
The falcon is grinning and pecking away.
Decomposition is her role of which there is no escape,
The mind can only determine the obvious distorted shape.
The maggots will gravitate to the fresh rotting source,
Much like the advances of an un-stoppable rebel force.
Goodbye to Pooter and to the litter box that stank,
Goodbye to the constantly spilling food and water tank.
Thanks for the memories and for reminding cats galore,
That if you are woos enough to get taken out by a bird,
You will be with us no more.