It's Only A Cat

He wasn’t it.
He was he
 
and I’d had him
since he
 
since HE
 
was a baby -
a kitten that fitted in the palm
 
of my hand.
So I’d known him a long time.
 
But let’s not get this out of proportion.
He wasn’t a person. I know that.
 
He was fur. A miaow.
A sharp claw.
 
A magnificent purr
rumbling warmly in your left ear
 
when he clung to you
and refused to let go.
 
‘But he was only a cat.’
I hear myself saying that
 
when persons commiserate.
I hear myself saying it,
 
time after time,
when the sadness rises.
 
I must be hoping to convince myself that,
that, is all the little fellow amounted to.