She

She

White whiskers against black fur – I miss her.

Such an elegant creature. I miss her.

She loved to play, and entice me to play.

I dangled cords, rolled balls for her. I miss her.

She climbed on the back of the old pink couch 

to smooch me in the next chair. I miss her.

Although she was the smallest, slightest cat,

none had such presence, such air. I miss her.

She would seem to dematerialise

then suddenly reappear. I miss her.

At night in bed she'd lie across my thighs

(a lap's a lap anywhere). I miss her.

Not for food but as toys, she chased lizards.

Tough hides (and I) thwarted her. I miss her.

Indoors, I only had to tell her once:

'Forbidden!' – then she'd never. I miss her.

From a sweet little face, her piercing eyes

would hold me in a long stare. I miss her.

Both the house and the yard belonged to her.

She made that perfectly clear. I miss her.

She'd sit on my legs while I watched TV,

watch and listen too, and purr. I miss her.

I, Rosemary (Remembrance) forget none.

Yet let me declare – now, here, I miss her.

Written for Poetry form: Ghazal at dVerse.