Something woke me up.

Just before dawn,

Something pulled out of a dream.

What was it?

It was not a jingling toy,

Rediscovered after days of disappearance.

It was not a fluffy paw,

Requesting play or cuddle.

It was not a harsh little tongue,

Licking my nose good morning.

It was not the sound of a plate breaking,

Fell victim of climbing adventures.

It was not a desperate cry,

To be let outside to play.

It was neither whining for food,

Next to an already filled bowl.

Nor was it kneading paws,

Or the joyous chirping to the new day.

What was it?

Then I remember the empty food bowls,

The rusting cage,

Tiny freshly dug graves outside.

And I cry myself to sleep

Surrounded by the deafening Silence.

Werecat Silverclaws,

October 2000