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The sun and the leaves

Dapple the carpet with shadow and light

The cat bears its vulnerable,

Bleached stomach to the warmth

Its legs and tails are limp with

A leaden, empty sleep that borders on death

The cat’s days are numbered, like the sun

That fills this radiant afternoon.

Soon the warmth of light will fade,

As the north-world turns from sol.

The light will be replaced with a machined daemon

Of rough iron cast with a soul of sharp red coals.

The cat will pass, emaciated

By age and the tasks of being.

The cat and its owner will be laid out to rot

Like every soul since bloodstained Abel.

All are never heard from again.

Save that one, true son.

In whom our hope rests

With whom we rest in hope.