My heart lies broken, bleeding, silent; a watch with no mainspring, rusted and corroded into a useless and insignificant piece of scrap.
My soul wails in torment; its sorrowed keening echoes unto eternity in this endless labyrinth of despair.
My eyes and nose leak happiness and joy; their collected bounty fills my circular file to overflowing.
Wherever it is that cats with cancer move on to, I fervently hope it’s always warm, always sunny, and full of lots of interesting things to eat, smell, and sleep on.
The forecast says it should be warm and sunny, but the feeble daystar is impotent against this endless winter of the heart.
Kancer Kitty, nineteen ninety-something to two-thousand ten. You will be missed.